


After All This Time

by vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Awkward Crush, But after the first chapter they're adults, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Jon, Jon is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Minor Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Minor Jon Snow/Ygritte, Pining, Sansa is like Madam Pomfrey and head of the hospital wing, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Teen Angst, Warg Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-01-23 08:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 83,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: Once upon a time, Sansa Stark had had a crush on him when they were younger and later, Jon had developed one for her but their timing wasn't right.  When he'd punched her boyfriend on Christmas Eve during his last year of school, he'd believed that  Sansa would probably hate him forever.  He was wrong.Twelve years after leaving Hogwarts to pursue a career as an Auror, Jon returns to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts when a serious injury leaves him unable to continue in his chosen career.  There he'll be reunited and become reacquainted with Sansa Stark who is now the Head of the Hospital Wing for the school.  And perhaps for once, their timing will be just right.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark/Dickon Tarly (past)
Comments: 954
Kudos: 837





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have such a soft spot for Jonsa-Hogwarts AUs and have always wanted to write one so here it is. I really hope you'll enjoy it. 
> 
> The first chapter is the backstory of their years at Hogwarts as students and there's some teen angst plus Joffrey's an asshole as usual. After this chapter, the rest of the story will take place twelve years later when they are reunited as adults and will concentrate on their developing friendship and romance.
> 
> ****Thank you, Amymel, for the gorgeous pic set!!!!

_“She hated him!”_

_“Nah, she didn’t,” said Sirius._

_-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_

* * *

Years later, Jon Snow could still clearly remember the day he’d first laid eyes on her. Of course, heading to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the first time would be a very big deal to any wizarding child of eleven for reasons that had nothing to do with the little redhaired girl sporting braided pigtails and whining to her mother, expressing her dismay that she couldn’t go as well.

All the same, the girl had made an impression as he’d rolled his trunk past the large family with a harried mother and father speaking earnestly with a boy Jon’s age when their eyes had met and she’d grinned at him so sunnily despite her own disappointment.

Once settled on the Hogwarts Express, Jon would meet the boy from that family, Robb Stark, and by nightfall the pair would find themselves both sorted into Gryffindor and on their way to becoming the best of friends.

He’d fallen in love with life at Hogwarts that year. His mother had been muggle born, a bright witch and loving mother. She’d never married his father who came from a strictly pureblood family. Jon had spent little time with him until his mother’s untimely passing a few years earlier. To say he’d not been very happy with his strange father and stranger relatives (who’d looked down upon him for being a half-blood) would be an understatement. Hogwarts had felt more like a home in two weeks’ time than the Targaryen manor ever had.

The following summer, Jon had been invited to spend three weeks at Winterfell, the Starks’ home in the North, passed down through many generations of one of the oldest wizarding families in all of Britain. There, he’d got to know all of the Stark children. Rickon was just a baby and Bran and Arya quite small though eager to tag along with the older boys.

Sansa though, the little redhaired girl, had been strangely quiet around him most of the time and usually kept close to her mother. Jon had wondered if she disliked him for some reason but mostly hadn’t thought too much of her when the other children were such pleasant company. She was a pretty little girl but at twelve, Jon had little interest in girls, especially one two years younger than himself who didn’t much care for Quidditch.

When Jon and Robb were Third Years, Sansa had started at Hogwarts. Unlike her brother though, she’d been sorted into Ravenclaw so Jon and Sansa’s relationship had seemed doomed to remain regrettably distant for the most part. At the time, Jon had hardly cared. His life at Hogwarts had been a busy but happy tide as he’d joined the Quidditch team as Seeker and done his best not to fall behind in his studies.

That next summer, he’d wound up spending the majority of it with the Starks and it had been a very grand time. It had been unfortunate though how often Arya and Sansa had quarreled…and how often he’d found himself drug into their quarrels quite against his will. Arya had wanted someone to stick up for her and had decided that Jon would do nicely. He hadn’t wished to be at odds with either girl and, not being all that close to his half-siblings, he’d had little experience in how to handle such things. He feared he’d ended up wounding Sansa a time to two that summer when that had never been his intent.

But in his sixth year, he didn’t fear he’d wounded her. He _knew_ he had.

He’d been dating Ygritte, a Seventh Year, fellow Gryffindor and Chaser on the Quidditch team, eagerly learning the ins and outs of his first romantic relationship (and all about snogging). And, it had never occurred to him that Sansa might have any feelings for him until one day…

She’d dropped her books right outside of Charms when he’d said ‘hello’ and he’d stopped to help her pick them up. Her pretty face had been nearly as red as her hair by the time they’d had everything gathered back up but her blue eyes had been shining with something difficult to define.

_“Thank you, Jon.”_

_“No problem. You alright?”_

_“Yeah, you?”_

_“I’m good.”_

_“So, are you…”_ She’d started toying with her hair, looking flustered as she’d mumbled something about the Yule Ball.

It’d been loud in the hallway with everyone changing classes but she’d stood there staring at him expectantly. Had she asked him a question? Was he expected to reply?

Before he could admit he’d missed the last thing she’d said, an arm had slipped inside his robes to circle his waist. Ygritte had been by his side, giving him that crooked grin of hers.

_“There you are. I’ve been waiting in Rosby’s room for you.”_ He’d not known why that had made his face heat up with Sansa standing there but it had. They’d usually snuck in there to snog that time of day since the old professor would’ve been snoring in his back office. Ygritte’s eyes had raked Sansa from head to toe next. She’d been shorter than the younger redhead but there hadn’t been any mistaking the aggressive, almost territorial look on her face. _“You been hiding from me or busy elsewhere?”_

_“Nah, I…”_ He’d turned back towards Sansa, meaning to ask if the two girls knew each other and introduce them if not but Sansa had already walked away, rejoining the queue of Fourth Years for Charms.

_“You got a new sweetheart?”_ Ygritte had asked, none too quietly.

He’d shook his head, confused. _“No, that’s Sansa, Robb’s little sister.”_

_“Robb’s little sister has a crush on her big brother’s best mate, I’d say.”_ She’d cackled that rather loudly.

His face had grown hot again. _“No! No way!”_ he’d protested. She couldn’t have, could she? And she’d only been a Fourth Year…plus Robb would probably have killed him.

His eyes had sought Sansa once more and he’d seen the stricken look and the way her face had been bright red. Something heavy and uncomfortable had settled in his chest and guts and remained with him the rest of the day. He’d never thought of her liking him that way but then it made some things rather clear, didn’t it? He wasn’t an idiot. She’d heard Ygritte and then heard his response and she’d been hurt by it. He’d had more than a crush or two by that point so he knew how it felt but he’d never meant to hurt her at all.

But before he’d thought of something to say or even made a move to talk to her, she’d torn off down the corridor towards the girls’ toilets, weaving through the throng of students still milling about between classes faster than he’d ever seen her move. When he’d turned back to Ygritte, he’d not cared for her smug expression at all.

Young love is fickle though and two weeks later, Ygritte hadn’t been feeling very smug when they’d broken up, a very noisy, very nasty break up right outside the library a week before the Yule Ball. His ears could still burn from the humiliation all these years later when he would recall the scene.

And his heart would still lurch in his chest when he remembered locking eyes with Sansa quite by accident when he’d stormed away from Ygritte and he’d seen her look of genuine concern and sympathy over the horrid business rather than the gleeful anticipation of juicy gossip to be spread that most of the students around her had been wearing.

Ygritte had found another date quick enough and he’d heard through Arya that Sansa had been asked by Joffrey Baratheon, a Slytherin Fifth Year who Jon couldn’t stand.

Meanwhile, Jon had refused to go, electing to sit alone and brood in his bedroom that night instead of joining Arya in the common room with all the other First, Second and Third Years who’d taken it over while the older students attended the ball.

The rest of his Sixth Year had plodded along like usual except he’d found his eyes drawn towards the Ravenclaw table whenever they were all in the Great Hall. Where once he might’ve seen Sansa looking back at him more often than not and thought nothing of it, he’d been disappointed to find her nearly always preoccupied by her studies or other students, never looking his way anymore. He’d missed those looks once he’d opened his eyes enough to interpret them but it was no good whining over it.

All the same, he’d found himself eager for summer. The Starks had invited him to spend the bulk of it with them. Of course, he loved spending time with them. It was much more agreeable than staying with his father had ever been who’d never quite forgiven him for not being sorted into Slytherin.

But the real reason he’d been so looking forward to summer with the Starks was the chance to maybe make amends with Sansa…and also because that day in the hallway he’d started to realize that maybe he might have some feelings for Sansa, too. She’d attended the Yule Ball with Joffrey but they’d not been engaged or anything, right?

Unfortunately, she’d not been at Winterfell when he’d arrived. He’d learned from Robb that she’d been invited to spend her summer holidays with Margaery Tyrell and her family along the French Riviera and the Starks had reluctantly allowed her to go after much pleading on Sansa’s part. Robb had admitted in his ear that he’d been surprised she’d gone considering Sansa had told him a few times that the Slytherin girl wasn’t a very faithful sort of friend. Jon didn’t completely share Robb’s surprise. Some small part of him had wondered if she’d agreed to spend her summer with a girl she didn’t entirely like and trust mainly to avoid him. He’d told himself he was full of himself to think it. He’d also felt that maybe he wasn’t too far off the mark. It had hurt in more ways than one but perhaps he’d deserved it.

When Jon and Robb’s Seventh Year had arrived at last, he’d first laid eyes on a sun-kissed Sansa sporting a few more freckles waiting to board the train. She’d grown up so much from the little girl he’d first spied here at the start of his first year. Jon hadn’t known if Robb’s little sister still had a crush on him by that point but he’d known without a doubt that _he_ had one on _her_.

_“Hello, Sansa. Good summer?”_

_“Yeah, thanks.”_

_“We missed you at Winterfell.”_

_“Yeah, I missed all of them. I didn’t realize you were there,”_ she’d said with a frostiness that hardly sounded like Sansa.

He’d scowled…and maybe allowed his hurt and dismay to show. Her tight look had started to falter just as Joffrey had sidled up beside them.

_“There you are. I got us a car to share with the others.”_ He’d wrapped an arm around her waist and Jon had felt sick even knowing he had little right to, especially considering how it had paralleled the scene with him, Sansa and Ygritte outside of Charms the previous year._ “You lost, Snow?”_ Joffrey had asked haughtily, appearing to notice him for the first time.

_“No. I’ll see you around, Sansa. I hope you have a good year with your O.W.L.s and such.”_

The frostiness had completely evaporated when she’d replied, _“Thanks, Jon. Same to you with your N.E.W.T.s”_

They’d not spoken again until the Christmas holidays.

It had been a busy first half of the year so he’d been glad to go with Robb to the Starks for a much needed break. He’d mostly been eager for the time with just the Starks, enjoying Mrs. Stark’s delicious baking and Mr. Stark telling stories by the fire, the children all happily indulged in presents and treats, his last Christmas to feel like a kid in a way…and maybe a chance to speak with Sansa again.

Unfortunately, the Starks had decided to host a party that Christmas Eve and Joffrey, as Sansa’s boyfriend and as Ned’s friend Robert’s son, had come along. He hadn’t meant to walk in on anything when he’d sought some peace and quiet out in the Stark’s garage. Merlin’s Beard, he’d not wanted to walk in on Sansa and Joffrey snogging! But he hadn’t walked in on snogging exactly.

He’d already been formulating his apologies, burning with mortification and jealousy in equal measure, when he’d realized something had been very off about them. What had Joffrey been saying to her as he’d walked through the door? Something not very nice, he’d grown more and more certain. And, she’d been crying with a hand pressed to her cheek, her rapidly reddening cheek.

Allowing his temper to feed what instinct had been whispering in his ear, he’d hauled off and hit Joffrey square in the jaw without any apparent provocation.

_“What are you doing?!”_ she’d screamed at him when Joffrey had run off, crying about his mum, after shooting them both a glare of pure hatred.

_“He…Sansa, he hurt you, didn’t he?!” _

_He can’t do that! I would never…_

Her eyes had widened but she’d not denied it. Still, in her anger she’d shouted, _“Mind your own bloody business and leave me alone, Jon Snow!”_ before she’d chased after the little shit.

But Jon hadn’t minded his business. He’d told Mr. and Mrs. Stark what he’d seen and suspected and the party had ended in terribly awkward fashion soon after. Sansa had not spoken to him for the rest of the holiday and refused to be in the same room with him. He’d been right to tell her parents, he thought. Mr. Stark had even said as much…but he’d never been so miserable either.

_"Why are you acting like this?!" _he'd overheard Arya shouting at Sansa in their room the day before they were to return to school. _"Jon is our friend! He's practically family and Joffrey's a shit! Jon's just looking out for you. I know you had a crush on him when..."_

He'd known it was wrong to eavesdrop but, having overheard that much, he'd not been able to resist hearing her reply. It hadn't done his heart much good.

_"Lower your voice, please. That was just a crush and it's been done for ages now. And I don't need or want Jon Snow looking out for me."_

They didn’t speak again the rest of his final year at Hogwarts and, though he’d heard about her through the other Starks, he’d gone off to pursue a career as an Auror, believing that Sansa Stark hated his guts and would never willingly speak with him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve years after leaving Hogwarts, Jon returns for a job (and stresses over seeing Sansa again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to Amymel for the beautiful pic set she made after I'd posted the first chapter. It's at the start of the fic! And thanks to everyone for the lovely comments on the first chapter. You guys are so kind :D

**Twelve years later…**

He’d only been in the headmaster’s office a handful of times as a student. Unfortunately, it had always been when he and Robb had landed themselves in trouble. How he'd hated facing the man across the desk from him back then. Jon would've rather he'd yelled at him or given him some tedious task to do as a punishment instead of the looks of resigned disappointment he would receive. Hogwarts had been his home then and the headmaster like a father of sorts, one he'd actually cared about pleasing.

Today was a different matter altogether but he could still recall that feeling of being a boy and facing the stern professor even as he was a man answering questions for a job interview. 

Once the offer was made and accepted, Jon waited for the old man to rise, his eyes taking note of the Sorting Hat sitting upon its shelf.

_“I made no mistake with you, a Gryffindor through and through, though you’ve an eye for mischief,”_ it had once told him when he’d been in here for one of those juvenile offenses. He could still smile at that memory anyway. Being sorted into Gryffindor was something he'd been very glad of, the first outward evidence that he was not to be defined by who his father's family was here.

“I suppose an Auror will not allow all that talk of the position being jinxed to put him off?" the headmaster asked with a twinkle in his blue eyes. 

"No, sir."

It had long been whispered that the teaching position for Defense Against the Dark Arts had been cursed years ago as no one seemed to last in it beyond a year. If a year was the most time he was to spend here, he'd make the most of it. It wasn't as if he necessarily wanted to stay here always. 

"Well then, welcome back to Hogwarts, Jon. Or should I say, Professor Snow?” he asked next as they shook hands.

“Thank you, sir. It’s an honor to be here again.” Truly, it was. He shouldn’t look at this as a setback. So, why did it feel that way a bit?

The headmaster’s smile seemed to indicate that he knew precisely what Jon was thinking. His almost omnipotent level of knowledge had been the stuff of legend around Hogwarts long before Jon had been a student himself. “I hope you will make the most of this…_alteration_ in your career path. They say that setbacks are merely challenges in disguise.” Jon gave the man a wane smile and had nearly made it out the door when he added, “I know Madam Stark will gladly assist you with your wounds if needed.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he replied, bobbing his head to hide his grimace.

He left the headmaster behind and returned down the spiral staircase, thinking it ironic that the chosen password for entry was currently Lemoncake considering how much Sansa had relished the treats as a girl, especially when Mrs. Stark would make them at Christmas.

_“Madam Stark will gladly assist you…”_

Would she?

Probably. She was already renowned for her skills in healing magic despite her youth and the Sansa he knew would never refuse to help someone in need. Of course, she would help him but would she do so gladly? His stomach knotted up at the thought of asking for her help. What do you say to the person you’ve spent years convinced hated you when you were still kids now that you’re both adults…and going to be working together?

Ordinarily, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher might not have that much interaction with the head of the hospital wing beyond sharing their meals in the Great Hall (easy enough to avoid each other at such a long table with everyone facing the same direction) and the occasional instance of a student becoming ill or injured during his class.

But in Jon’s case, he likely would need to seek her out since his injury was the reason he was now teaching at Hogwarts instead of still working as an Auror for the Ministry.

Resolved to put what might be an unpleasant reunion from his mind, he headed off to where his classroom and quarters would be for the next year anyway. He’d need to unpack his trunk and prepare for something far more challenging than facing Sansa Stark again…teaching the students of Hogwarts all he could about dueling against dark wizards, fighting all manner of dark creatures and how to handle most hexes, curses and jinxes.

* * *

With only a few days to settle before the school year began, Jon had spent much of it preparing for his classes and seeing that Ghost was settled. And in the free time he'd had, he'd indulged himself by strolling down memory lane as he'd visited the Quidditch pitch, the owlery and some of his other favorite haunts on the school grounds. He hadn't bothered taking his meals in the Great Hall thus far, eating his meals in his quarters while he'd worked. He'd also managed to avoid the hospital wing...not that he'd purposely done so. _Bloody coward_.

When September 1st arrived, Jon woke with an oddly familiar sensation, a jumbled sense of excitement and nerves brought about by the start of the new school year.

At first, he attempted to dismiss it as silly considering he was no longer a student but this was a new start for him as well, wasn’t it? He’d never been a teacher before and he supposed that was quite enough reason to have a few Cornish Pixies zipping around his belly.

He pulled on his trousers and adjusted his tie before picking some stray white hairs off his charcoal-grey robes. Ghost had a way of getting his fur everywhere even when they weren’t exactly sharing their quarters, not that Jon minded. He was grateful the headmaster had agreed to letting him come. He’d sworn to Ghost when he was a little pup he’d never abandon him and Ghost had been his stalwart friend and protector on more than once occasion since then. But a castle was no place for a fully grown direwolf.

Dressed and ready after he’d given up on making his curls cooperate today and just pulled them back with an elastic band, he headed down the stairs to greet his colleagues. He’d been told that breakfast for the staff on the first day before the students arrived could be a jovial or subdued affair depending upon one’s disposition. He wasn’t sure which way that pendulum might swing for him. 

He walked down the long row of tables towards the head table with that knot of anxiety twisting and expanding in his belly, having already spied her brilliant auburn hair glowing like a halo at the sunlit end of the table where she sat next to the Potions Master, Oberyn Martell. Tyrion Lannister, the Charms Teacher, was entertaining them both at present with his droll stories, no doubt. The seat beside her was free. Was he more glad of that or terrified by it?

_You've faced dementors, Death Eaters and dragons but the mere prospect of sitting next to Sansa Stark during breakfast leaves you quaking. What is wrong with you?_

So what if she'd had a crush on him once upon a time? So what if he'd had one on her? _And so what if you punched Joffrey?_ He shook his head. They were both adults now and those school days were well behind them. They could certainly be cordial at least and not allow old hurts and such keep them from behaving maturely and professionally. 

Telling himself his heart was quite strong enough to resist the allures of Sansa Stark and deciding not to let boyish worries over the past provoke him into behaving boorishly, he walked over to where the three of them sat. 

“Good morning,” he said to the other two teachers before allowing his eyes to rest fully on Sansa. “Good morning, Sansa. It’s nice to see you again.” _There now. Polite and friendly. _

But when she lifted her eyes to him, it seemed his breath was expelled in a great huff quite against his will as if he'd been walloped in the gut by an invisible giant. 

She was beautiful, so beautiful. It was almost hard to look at her dead on. How could he have forgotten? Or maybe she was even more beautiful at 28 than she’d been at 16 though it hardly seemed possible. She looked happier anyway which made him happy, her blue eyes sparkling with pleasure. Was that because of his greeting or whatever Tyrion had been saying when he'd walked up? He hoped she wasn't sorry to see him all the same.

And, when she stood and walked around the table to embrace him, her hands coming out of the pockets of her crisp white apron as she raced those last few steps towards him until he caught her, he was convinced that Sansa was as pleased to see him as he was to see her.

“Jon,” she sighed as their embrace ended, "it is so sweet to see you once again." 

Her hand rose hesitantly towards the scar above his eye before dropping just shy of touching it. He found himself wishing she would’ve but the embrace had been enough to make his heart swell. How could he possibly believe that she still hated him, if she ever had in the first place, after such a greeting? And how could he have possibly believed that he wouldn't be in danger of falling for her all over again? 

* * *

  
  
After that initial reunion, Jon made a point of sitting beside Sansa every morning at breakfast that first week, a fact that seemed to draw some bemused interest from the rest of the staff. He told himself that it was only because they were old acquaintances and not because there was no other person present he'd rather sit beside. She didn't seem to mind in the least anyway. He did make an effort at dinner to engage in conversation with the others but, having never been much of a morning person, he found Sansa was all the company he wanted at breakfast time. 

The noise level during meals was significantly greater with the arrival of the students but they didn't allow it to keep them from catching up over things they’d been up to the past few years, mostly job related stuff or family news. Naturally, Robb was the first person they spoke of. Jon saw Robb quite often (though not as much lately) and he was their initial link, the reason they'd met in the first place as children. But his contact with the rest of the family, other than Ned, had slacked off and he learned what the younger Starks had been up to and how her mother was faring with her empty nest. 

"She's taken to volunteering at St. Mungo's a great deal. If Dad ever leaves the Ministry, I know she's spoken of them taking an extended holiday somewhere tropical. My mother's always been partial to the water." 

The subject of her mother's renewed interest in healing had allowed him to ask about her work. Sansa had always been a brilliant witch and he never doubted that she had earned her place here at the Hogwarts as well as the respect of her peers in the profession, some of them healers thrice her age. It was still satisfying to coax her into sharing it with him, of what she'd learned at St. Mungo's and well beyond when she'd traveled to other parts of the world for a year to discover what witches, wizards and even muggles might teach her when it came to the battle against disease.

In return, he shared what was worth telling of his work as an Auror but not mentioned his injuries as being the reason he'd come to Hogwarts. Somehow, he had found it difficult to discuss them with most people, the concerned, pitying look in their eyes never sat well with him.

By some unspoken agreement, they avoided weightier subjects for the time being. They didn't speak of that party on Christmas Eve for one thing or the fact they'd avoided each other for twelve years afterwards. _Awkward things are awkward, I suppose_. And, after all this time, did she think of it at all? 

On Friday morning, they laughed over the number of fanged frisbees, dungbombs and whizzing worms that had already been confiscated in just one week. 

"Are you sure none of them were yours, Jon?" she asked with a mischievous grin.

"No. Once upon a time maybe but Robb was more of a prankster than me."

"Believe me, I know. I also know it won't be long until Skiving Snackboxes will be turning up."

"True but I hope that won't give you too much headache. All they have to do is take the other half of the treat, right?"

"Yes, but there was also a rash of subpar imposters last year. It caused the malady but the cure didn't work."

"Oh, that must've been messy if it was the Nosebleed Nougat or Puking Pastille they'd taken."

"Quite."

"I suppose I won't let myself be too offended if they start using them to avoid my class."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that." He glanced away from his sausage to find her giving him a warm smile. "I hear everything in the hospital wing and I've heard nothing but good things about you and your classes from the students so far, Professor Snow." 

It was indescribably affirming to hear that he was doing well or that Sansa thought he was doing well anyway. And, that invisible giant had returned to wallop him again as he smiled back at her. 

The moment was rudely spoiled; however, when one of the school owls swooped in to deliver a letter to Sansa...and left Jon's trousers soaked with pumpkin juice. 

"Ruddy bird," he grumbled as he started dabbing at the mess before pulling out his wand.

He’d never been all that good with cleaning spells. He regretted that he might have to cut his breakfast time with Sansa short to go change and started to ask for her assistance to avoid that necessity. 

But when he turned towards her, he saw she was reading her letter most intently. There was something in her eyes that gave him pause, a softness but also a touch of melancholy. He'd always had keen instincts. It made him a good Seeker at Quidditch and a good Auror among other advantages. And right now, his instincts were whispering things to him that made the sausages he'd eaten turn to lead in his belly and his heart feel a fluttery sense of panic and dread. He was curious about the contents of her letter to say the least and its sender in particular but it would be rude to ask. 

_Arya would ask. _

_And you're not Arya nor is your interest one of sibling curiosity. _

He spent much of his Friday thinking of that look and trying to interpret it. Did she have a sweetheart, a lover somewhere perhaps? She spent the majority of her year at Hogwarts but not her summer. It could've been a letter from an old friend, no more. He really shouldn't spend his time worrying over it when he had a pack of Third Years in front of him who couldn't properly banish a boggart yet. It still ate at him.

By dinner that night, the students were in a festive mood and ready to blow off a little steam after their first week of classes. Jon had to admit he felt the same. Teaching had been a positive experience so far, though he knew he’d taken his share of missteps. But it was tiring, day in and day out. He wondered if it would feel that way without the scars.

_Speaking of which, I should pay a visit._

He’d agreed to oversee Gryffindor's Quidditch team’s try-outs on Saturday but his Friday evening was free. If it wasn't for Ghost, he'd not be sitting here. And it hit him then that he very much wanted Sansa to meet Ghost. So, after dinner, he asked if she might like to join him on a trek into the Forbidden Forest.

“Are you seriously asking me if I want to go on a moonlit stroll with you through the Dark Forest, Jon Snow? The most dangerous place on the school grounds? At night? I wasn’t a foolhardy Gryffindor like you if you recall. Ravenclaws are known for our wisdom and wit, not for seeking out trouble.”

He could feel his face getting hot but she started grinning and he realized she was mostly teasing. And did he mind that she made it sound like a date? No, he did not.

“Well…yeah. Think of it, Madam Stark. Me, you and our wands, off on an adventure on a Friday night. The headmaster says the acromantulas haven’t been seen outside of their hollow for some time now.” She shuddered and he recalled her fear of ordinary spiders. Still, he pressed on. “And the centaurs have not been particularly aggressive of late from what he says.”

“And finding out if the headmaster is correct on both points is still not how I pictured spending my Friday night.”

“I’ll bring along some lemoncakes and a bottle of elderflower wine in case we work up an appetite or a thirst.” Hoping he wasn't coming across as too pushy, he added, "Only if you like of course. I wouldn't presume to..."

“Best be careful, Jon. You’ll turn a girl’s head with such enticing offers,” she said dryly, putting him at ease once more.

“Well, it’s not Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, I’ll concede.”

She laughed over the mention of the most-romantic destination in Hogsmeade (romantic by the students' standards anyway) before giving him a more earnest appraisal. “You’re serious about us going together, aren’t you?”

“I am. I need to check on my friend and I’d like your company if you’re willing to ignore your logical mind long enough to follow this foolhardy Gryffindor into certain danger.”

“Your friend?” Her eyebrows were raised. He’d peaked her curiosity.

“Yes, my friend Ghost.”

“Your friend is a ghost? Why isn’t he at the castle like the other ghosts?”

“He’s not that kind of ghost,” he chuckled, rather enjoying this playfulness they’d not shared with each other since they were far younger. “I’ll show you.”

After fetching their cloaks, they met by the main entrance to head down towards the forest together. The evening air was nippy and fog was forming by the lake. He’d very much like to take her hand but that would hardly be appropriate. All week, he’d hoped they might be on the cusp of truly being friends at last and he would not spoil that by letting his other wishes get in the way.

“You’re not taking me to see some banshee, are you?” she asked suspiciously as they entered the forest, though her lips were still quirked in a grin.

“Oh no, I…” He started laughing, remembering the prank he and Robb had once played on the younger Starks. Then, he automatically rubbed at his knee, recalling how fiercely Arya had kicked him when he’d been playing the role of the banshee. “It’s nothing like that, I swear.”

It was dark in the forest even with the full moon shining overhead but his white coat was hard to miss and his red eyes glowed in the half-light beneath the canopy of trees.

“Oh, Jon,” she gasped, her hand circling his wrist when she saw him. She took a step closer to him, the warmth of her body nearly pressed against his own and he couldn’t resist wrapping an arm protectively around her to assure her that they were fine. But she was not frightened. She looked every bit as enchanted by Ghost as he’d hoped she would be. “A direwolf. I didn’t think they could still be found this far south.”

“Yes, a direwolf and he was born in the far North." With regret, he stopped holding Sansa so he could hold out his hand. "Come here, boy. Come meet Sansa,” he beckoned.

Ghost padded up to them silently but as friendly as a dog. He was no dog though. The size of a small horse, his great head was bowed as he sniffed first Jon and then Sansa. There was a trace of dried blood on his muzzle but Sansa did not seem to mind it. Direwolves must eat after all and there was plenty of game here, even for a predator Ghost’s size.

“What is he doing here?”

“I’ve had him since he was a pup and I told the headmaster that I couldn’t leave him, not even for Hogwarts. So, he allowed me to bring him here.”

“He’s yours?” she asked, her eyes dancing with delight as Ghost allowed her to nuzzle against his neck. Jon probably shouldn’t have felt jealous of the wolf because of that. He did a little anyway.

“Yes and no. He’s here because of me and because the headmaster allowed it. Ghost and I are friends, I guess,” he shrugged, not sure how else to put it.

“He’s gorgeous,” she said, patting his neck affectionately and giggling when Ghost licked her face.

He could get a bit slobbery when he met a new acquaintance who he liked. He pulled out a handkerchief for her just as Ghost got it in his head to give Jon's shoulder a playful knock, causing him to stumble into Sansa. He felt her arms closing around him, keeping him from falling until he regained his balance. He scowled at Ghost who only appeared pleased with himself. When he turned back to Sansa to offer the handkerchief again, his breath caught in his throat at the way she was looking at him when their hands met.

“Thank you for inviting me to come along,” she said in a quiet voice as they moved back a part a few paces.

“Thank you for agreeing to join me.”

They visited with Ghost for a good while, passing the bottle of elderflower wine back and forth and sharing the lemoncakes he’d hoarded at dinner. He let her have her fill of those and encouraged her when she stared longingly at the last of them.

While she ate it, he told her the story of how he’d rescued the direwolf pup after the Ministry had received a report of a dark wizard who’d been breeding them for his own foul purposes on the Orkney Islands.

At last, they bid Ghost adieu so that they could head back towards the castle and Ghost could melt back into his new forest home.

“My brothers and sister would all certainly be jealous knowing you’ve made friends with a direwolf. Has Robb met him?”

“They can be jealous of you as well now.” Even under the moonlight, he could see the blush form upon her cheeks. He'd pleased her. “And no, Robb hasn't. I've mentioned him in a roundabout way but they’re not legal to own as pets in Britain anymore, not that such a creature could truly be a pet. Robb works for the Ministry as does your father. I thought it best not to tell too much. Plausible deniability or whatever they'd say."

"True. It is probably best that they not know too much about your pet."

"Exactly though I've never considered him as belonging to me per se. Jeor Mormont has already been good enough to overlook the infraction of Ghost residing with me. He’s always been kinder to me than I deserve.” The head of the Aurors had taken him under his wing very early and taught him a great deal.

“I doubt anyone could be kinder to you than you deserve, Jon.”

Her tone was far different than the playfulness they'd enjoyed most of the evening. It was almost remorseful. He looked up, confused and concerned by it and her statement.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved after the party and Joffrey that December. I’m sorry for a good deal of what occurred that year but mostly that I blamed you for things that weren’t your fault and that you and I did not part on good terms because of it."

"Oh, it's..."

"You may not even remember it that well. It was so long ago. I'm sure you've had far too many interesting things happen to you and fascinating people enter your life to think back on one Christmas Eve when..." 

She paused to draw a deep breath and he was too stunned to speak. Did she really believe he hadn't cared or noticed when she'd stopped speaking to him? Maybe she did. Maybe she'd never understood what she'd meant to him then. He'd never told her after all. 

The bittersweet ache of adolescence filled him, that time in one's life where intense emotions, surging hormones and new fancies often run afoul of fickle hearts, inexperience and underdeveloped communication skills. One hopes to outgrow some of that as an adult. Some do, some don't. The ache still remains within us to be recalled quite acutely from time to time along with the memories. 

"I was a silly girl. You were probably only vaguely aware of my coldness towards you."

"I would never call you silly but I do remember those things. I remember them quite clearly." He was only being honest though he hated the pained look his words drew from her.

"Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Sansa. I’m sorry if I overstepped the bounds that night or caused you strife.”

She raised her free hand, a gentle entreaty for him to let her finish. “Don’t apologize. The only one who would owe me an apology isn’t here and never would apologize anyway even if he were.”

He nodded, showing he would not interrupt again if she wished to say more. Part of him wanted to hear about that night from her point of view though part of him feared he’d only want to punch Joffrey again once she was done.

She swallowed hard and continued, “He wasn’t unkind to me at first. When we’d attended the Yule Ball together that previous year, he’d been quite charming even.”

It was on the tip of Jon’s tongue to ask about that particular ball. More specifically, he wanted to aske if she recalled what she’d asked him in the corridor outside of Charms that he’d not heard a few weeks before it. But he recalled his intention to listen to her and kept his silence.

“For several months after, he was the same for the most part when we’d speak though temperamental or sulky at times. Margaery Tyrell and some of the other girls were always in my ear, saying what an impressive catch he was, the son of the Prime Minister of Magic at the time, the grandson of the wealthiest wizard in England. Margaery said I shouldn’t waste my time on boys who weren't interested in…”

She trailed off and shook her head sadly, leaving Jon to only wonder what boys the Tyrell girl had told her she shouldn’t waste her time on.

“I believed them for longer than I should have. But things changed after he declared me his girlfriend. It was like I…belonged to him to his way of thinking and was no longer worth any special effort. He would say cruel things, nasty things. He was letting me see his true self then though at the time I naively thought it was all something I was doing wrong.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him, looking him in the eye.

“He’d shoved me a couple of times before that night but that was the first time he’d struck me. I was shocked by it and yet strangely not surprised. It still hurt that he would do that. And then you walked in, I was embarrassed especially when you figured out what was happening. I didn’t want you of all people to know the horrible truth of my relationship with Joffrey.”

Why him of all people? But fury and pain twisted inside him, making it hard to focus on that question or to remain silent. “Sansa, I…”

“You did the right thing, Jon. Well, maybe hitting him wasn’t the best thing to do but telling my parents was. Despite my anger and embarrassment, it forced me to choose and I chose myself over being Joffrey's girlfriend and punching bag. Thank you for not minding your business. You did me a favor in the long run.”

He felt the corners of his mouth jerk upward but quickly drop again. “But after, we never…”

“No. I can thank you now looking back at it as an adult but at the time, I was very angry with you. I was ashamed and unhappy and you were an easy target for my resentment. And once we returned to school after the holiday, things were unpleasant for me and I couldn’t figure out how to change that.”

“Unpleasant how? Did he bother you or…”

“No, he kept his distance for fear of you or Robb’s wrath or maybe my father’s or his father’s, I suppose. But all of my friends by that point were ultimately his friends and it was a lonely rest of the year. At least, I did very well on my O.W.L.s.”

He could only imagine how difficult that would be, especially at an age where peer relationships are such a significant part of one’s identity. What if he and Robb had ever quarreled to the point of a break? What if everyone else had taken Robb’s side? Life at Hogwarts would’ve been vastly less pleasant without his friends.

“All his friends, you said. Even Margaery?”

“Especially Margaery,” she said bitterly. “They married after they finished school.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“I wouldn’t think you’d be very concerned with marriage notices while you were busy chasing down dark wizards and creatures throughout Britain and beyond. In the end, I can only feel pity for her but I was very wounded when they started dating during Sixth Year. Well, I was until I started dating someone else.”

A fond smile lit her face and it brought to mind her mysterious letter from this morning. A jealous beast started stirring in his guts at the thought but he was happy to know life at Hogwarts had improved for her after he’d left.

“Joffrey and Margaery have since divorced though they have a daughter, poor pet. She’ll be old enough for Hogwarts in a couple of more years.” She gave him a meaningful look. “I keep my mouth closed and don’t speak ill of them here.”

He nodded. The child shouldn’t be held accountable for her wretched father and of course there was another matter when it came to Joffrey. “Tyrion is his uncle.”

“Yes, he is. He’s a pleasant colleague and entertaining. He loves his great-niece and I prefer to let the past go. I hope you feel the same.”

“Of course. But Sansa…I should like for us to be friends, truly friends in our own right and not just through Robb.” He wanted to be more than friends in truth but this was an important first step. Even if they were never more than friends, he would treasure having that much from her. 

“I’d very much like that, Jon,” she replied as they reached the entrance again.

Walder Frey, the cantankerous and wizened old caretaker of the castle, grumbled at them both for being out so late when he was attempting to lock up. They were not students anymore to be intimidated by the embittered squib and he ceased his grumbles when Sansa sweetly pointed out it was barely half past eight and asked if he needed any more Pepper-Up Potion for his nasty cold. He declined and ambled off, leaving them quite alone.

Jon’s hands suddenly felt sweaty despite the chill of the night and his heart started up its rapid drumming once more. _Friends. You’ve just asked to be her friend,_ he reminded himself.

All the same, long after they’d bid one another good night, he would swear he could smell her sweet fragrance intermingled with the elderflower wine as he laid down in his bed. And, he could clearly picture the way the moonlight made her normally sunny-sky blue eyes look like misty dark pools, drawing him deeper and deeper into all those old feelings he’d tried to forget once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the headmaster is left nameless because there's really not anyone in asoiaf that I could see truly filling Dumbledore's shoes. Honestly, same goes for McGonagall for me. On the other hand, I can't think of anyone better to fill the role of Argus Filch than Walder Frey, can you? Sorry, not sorry :)
> 
> I'll update Leather & Lace (hopefully) tomorrow but then I'll be posting a few different things during Jonsa Week next week so it might be a little bit on updating WIPs again. Thanks so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's wounds trouble him and the Green-Eyed Monster pays him an unfortunate visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occasionally a commenter suggests a character for something that I hadn't planned and it just sticks in my head. I tend to forget Professor Binns but I liked this suggested replacement :)

Whether witch, wizard or muggle, people encounter setbacks in life. He’d had his share of them. Just when you think you’ve got things handled, rolling along nicely, the rug gets pulled out from under you. And the day he’d confronted his Uncle Viserys and his Death Eater friends had led to one of the biggest ones for Jon yet.

Months later, he was still dealing with the repercussions of that day. 

One minute he was holding his wand at the front of his classroom, preparing to show his Second Years how to properly cast an Impediment Jinx while a piece of chalk was writing out the spell’s essentials on the board behind him in his messy scrawl.

The next, he was lying on the floor with half a dozen anxious young faces hovering over him, hearing the fading echoes of cruel laughter ringing in his ears. 

“Professor? Professor Snow?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m…” 

He tried to rise as Erena gasped and pointed at his face. Then, Edric was shouting that he was bleeding. He opened his robes. His shirt was already soaked with blood and more was dripping into his eye. He tried focusing on what he needed to do, what he wanted to ask the children to do. But he couldn’t. Jon felt himself slipping away into a darkness where neither concern nor cruelty would follow him.

When he slowly opened his eyes again, he knew two things at once; he was not in his bed and he was wearing very little clothing. 

Judging by the stained glass windows and ceiling he could see, he thought he might be in the hospital wing which would make sense although it was different than he’d recalled from the visits he’d made here as a student. For one thing, the room was smaller and unusually quiet except for the faint scratching of a quill.

“This is my office.” He turned his head towards the voice, a voice he knew very well. “I had to move you in here for a little more peace and privacy. Several of your students kept coming by. They were very concerned over you but I’ve told them you were resting and not to worry.”

He licked his dry lips. “Thank you, Sansa. I’m surprised they’d come see me.” 

“Are you really? They’re good children.” 

“Aye, you’re right. I’m sorry to have frightened them. I guess I just assumed with me being so new here, no one would care.”

“They’ll be alright. It’s a dangerous world we live in and children must learn it eventually. But old or new, they like you. People like you and care if you’re hurt. I care,” she mumbled before bowing her head to finish her writing. 

There was that ache in his chest she seemed capable of summoning so easily. The children cared and so did she. He stared at her as she wrote, wondering how he could ever have doubted that she cared for him.

_But friendship and caring is not attraction or romantic love so don’t let your heart carry you away._

He continued watching her, letting the soothing scratch of the quill lull him…before it sparked his curiosity. _What are you writing? Is it a letter? Is it a reply to another? _

Sansa rose from her desk when she finished and walked over to him, a look of concern on her face. “Cursed wounds are tricky but I think I’ve stopped the bleeding at last. I’ll mend them up more neatly now if you like.”

“Thank you,” he said again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve mentioned them to you before. I’m not sure why I didn’t.” _I wanted you to see me as strong. I wanted you to believe I’m whole…even if I’m not. _

Those words were unspoken but her enigmatic smile almost made him think she had read his mind. _Perhaps she's spent a lot of time with the headmaster. _

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Jon. The headmaster had said you may have reason to call on me from time to time but he did not divulge why.”

“His discretion is appreciated though not necessary in our case.”

“Discretion is a rare virtue, I’m afraid. So many yield to the temptation of gossip and talebearing but it was your news to share.”

“I should’ve warned you of what to expect.”

“Rubbish. I’m not easily baffled when it comes to healing and it wasn’t my business until it became my business. May I?” she asked, indicating the blanket covering him.

Though he was not typically modest, his face grew hot at the thought of Sansa Stark seeing him in such a state of undress. But she’d already seen him while he was unconscious, no doubt. She was a healer and it would be silly of him to act prudish over such a thing. It was courteous of her to ask all the same.

“Of course.”

She raised the blanket with a professional detachment though he wore nothing but his boxers. Sansa’s sharp eyes were focused on the ugly gashes that would bleed at will and often at the worst possible times. That was the way of his cursed wounds. He’d been told they would never truly heal. 

He could still picture the malice glittering in Viserys’ eyes when he’d been surrounded, disarmed and facing certain death. _“I won’t kill you, nephew. I’ll just give you a little something to remember me by.”_

That had been a lie, of course. If not for Ghost, he would’ve bled to death before the other Aurors were aware of what was happening. 

_“You were a fool to go after him alone, boy!”_ Jeor had shouted in his ear even as he’d been attempting to help him. _“Why in the bloody hell won’t the bleeding stop?!”_

_“It wasn’t Sectumsempra,”_ he’d answered weakly. _“He did something else like it but it wasn’t…” _

Whatever vile curse Viserys had managed to invent, Jon supposed it, as well as the counter-curse, had later died with him. Then again, when would he ever expect Viserys to bother coming up with a counter-curse? The man had enjoyed inflicting pain and torment too much to ever want to reverse the effects. 

“The one on your thigh worries me so close to your artery.” 

He nodded and tried not to gulp too noticeably when she placed her hand on his leg. How could her touch be soothing and yet leave him inflamed at the same time? He needed to focus on something other than the way it was making his pulse jump…and the way it made something else twitch. 

And perhaps he was not the only one affected by the skin to skin contact. Her cool professionalism seemed to slip when her eyes tracked their way up from his thigh to his chest. Or did he only imagine that? Maybe, maybe not. Her cheeks were undeniably rosy as she moved her hand away. However, her eyes grew watery the next instant.

“This one by your heart…” The blanket dropped a few inches as she met his gaze. “Jon? How did you survive?”

“I barely did.” He reached for her hand when he saw a tear sliding down her rosy cheek. “Please, don’t cry.”

“You could’ve died. I didn’t even know,” she whispered. “None of us knew. Does Robb even know?”

“I’m here. I’m not dead. I…I’ve not told Robb.” 

There were some at the Ministry who knew of course but the Department of Magical Transportation didn’t cross paths with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement so often, much less with the Aurors. He’d made excuses whenever Robb had asked about getting together the past few months and, being busy with Jeyne and the kids, his friend had not pressed him too hard. 

“Who did this to you?” she asked next, a fearsome look replacing her earlier sadness.

He grimaced, hating to speak of him but he’d tell Sansa. She was his friend now and she deserved an answer. “You know some about my father’s family, I believe? You’ve heard of my uncle, I’m sure.”

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Targaryen was one of the oldest, wealthiest wizarding families in the land. It was also one of the most tainted; renowned for their pureblood mania, even going so far as to marry brother to sister for the sake of the bloodline in the past, and irrevocably tied to the Death Eaters thanks to first his grandfather and later his uncle. 

“Yes, I…_oh.”_

She finished so softly, her voice a mere whisper. He knew she knew. Her family had probably spoken of his father’s family none-too-favorably from time to time. Jon could hardly blame them. Ned Stark’s older brother had been an Auror. He’d died dueling against some of his grandfather’s followers. 

His father hadn’t been able to deny fathering him and he’d taken Jon in after his mother’s death. He’d hated living in that gloomy house though, surrounded by those who looked at muggleborns like his mother as some form of subspecies and a half blood like him with only a little less distaste. 

The lone exception had been his Great-Great Uncle Aemon who'd been teaching History of Magic at Hogwarts for ages. Jon had seen little of him until he'd started school and, in truth, not much outside of class either. Ghosts could be notoriously fickle when it came to holding long-winded conversations after all. 

Coming to Hogwarts had opened Jon's eyes anyway. He’d stopped listening to his father's family's nonsense altogether and stopped being ashamed to speak of his mother. Some of the Slytherins in his year had initially tried to befriend him but he’d soon seen they were just like the purebloods of his family. When he spoke about being glad his grandfather had been stopped and that his followers were in Azkaban, they’d ceased to try and be his friend. The stigma of being related to the Targaryens had ultimately played a role in his choice of career.

Sansa pulled out her wand and gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed. “I heard he was killed by an Auror.” 

“He was…by me.”

That had been a few days later. Jeor hadn’t liked Jon going but he’d still let him come along anyway. Viserys had been mad and dangerous. Him and his friends had done their best to kill Jon and the others. The guilt still ate at him all the same. It wasn’t until later when they’d realized the disastrous, long-term effects of his wounds that Mormont had sorrowfully told him he was too much of a liability to keep on. 

As Sansa began mending the wounds, the story started spilling out of him before he even realized it. All those bottled-up fears and hurts over those two incidences came bubbling out of him like a cauldron left too long. There was a good deal of anger over it to go along with his remorse. His hands shook as he spoke. She only listened, silently continuing to mend his wounds. 

When he'd told her all of it, he feared meeting her eyes. He didn't want to see the pity there, or worse...contempt for him as a failed Auror or as a man. 

But it wasn't pity nor contempt he saw when her hand grasped his, squeezing gently. It was compassion and caring. If a heart could sigh, his sighed over her expression. “I’m sorry, Jon. I wish you’d never been in that position.”

“I asked to go with them.”

“Why? Because you thought it was your duty?”

“Well…yes.”

“You were always mindful of your duty. You never shied away from doing what was right, even as a boy.” Her tone was admiring and he felt unworthy of it.

“I’ve done plenty wrong.”

“Maybe but you’ve tried to do what’s right more often than not. I can still see how so it must bother you. What does your father say of it?”

He shrugged with feigned indifference. "He's gone off me a bit since it happened."

"What does that mean?"

He sighed and closed his eyes, a spark of rage flaring beneath the surface. He'd have to keep that in check. “He doesn’t speak to me now, not since it happened.”

"Do you mean he's taken his brother's side?"

"Not directly. Publicly, he's condemned him but privately...I went against the family. I embarrassed him..."

"_You_ embarrassed him?! The brother of the Death Eater was embarrassed by you?! How dare he?!"

"Thanks but that's how they see things and I don't think I'll be welcomed 'round for Sunday dinner ever again."

"Oh, Jon..."

"I don't care. It's a relief really, no longer pretending we have a relationship. I don't give a shit about him. I never did." But his voice had steadily risen in volume and that last sentence had been shouted as much as spoken, betraying the old hurts of being the half-blood, the second-hand son, not entirely wanted, a dirty secret shame.

The reverberation of his outburst still seemed to hang in the air as they stared at each other before Sansa softly spoke again, “Lie to me if you wish but don’t lie to yourself. You do care. He doesn’t deserve you but you care. You hate that you care but you still do. I know it as sure as I know you.” 

He didn’t know what to say so he just nodded. No one else had said that to him. Maybe some of the others had understood but no one else had put it into words. 

She placed the tip of her wand to the last of his wounds, the one above his eye and recited a healing spell. Sansa knew a lot more about healing than what she could do with a wand, he thought. 

"All done," she murmured.

He glanced at his chest. The wounds were closed again for now. It was still ugly but no longer frightening looking. "Thank you."

He couldn’t be an Auror with such wounds. What if they opened up at some crucial moment? It wasn't safe for him to live alone. It was wise to be somewhere there were trained healers nearby. Trying to close them up on his own in his case didn’t work well since the loss of blood often rendered him unconscious before he could accomplish anything.

"Do you miss it? Being an Auror?"

There she went reading his mind again. "Some, yeah. Don't get me wrong, I love being at Hogwarts. I like teaching so far and my pupils are great but I can't help thinking about what I always felt I was meant to be doing now that I can't do it anymore."

She looked sad at that, the first true look of pity. No, not pity really. It was sympathy though. He didn't mind it from her. She seemed to be working herself up to something before she spoke again. “I’ve studied curse-breaking. Not just here, lots of places...Egypt, Mexico and the Congo to name a few. There's loads of things we could try. If I could find some way to mend them for good, would you be willing to let me try?”

He took a deep breath, telling himself not to hope for too much while simultaneously wondering if he'd truly want to leave Hogwarts again someday. “If anyone could do it, I’d put my galleons on you.”

She smiled, pleased by his faith, and then went to magic the blood from his clothes. The sunlight was behind her, setting her hair aflame. They were friends, on their way to being good friends. But he could allow himself to look his fill at her, couldn’t he? To soak in her beauty this afternoon and pretend just a bit? 

His eyes grew heavy. The loss of blood would leave him weak for several hours even after it had been replenished by magical means. It was almost as if the body wasn’t fooled.

“Do you want to lie here longer or would you rest better in your room?” she asked after setting his clean shirt, trousers and robes beside the bed.

He liked being close to her but he would sleep better in his bed. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“I like you in my hair,” she said, a much appreciated lightness in her tone now. “Come to me whenever they trouble you or I can treat you in your room if you prefer.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll help you back to your quarters.”

“No, that’s not…”

“Don’t be stubborn, Jon Snow,” she said in a suddenly stern voice causing him to chuckle.

“Yes, Madam Stark. I will do as you command.”

* * *

The following morning, he was lying abed when there was a knock on his door. Sansa had told the headmaster he would need a day to recover so he'd asked Professor Martell and Melisandre the Divination teacher if they'd cover for Jon. 

Oberyn was skilled with potions and could certainly hold his own when it came to fighting dark forces but there was no telling what Melisandre might be trying to teach his students. Of course, Tormund, the former gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor, had volunteered. He'd always been more like a friend than an authority figure to Jon but, knowing Tormund, he'd probably be trying to lead the students into the Forbidden Forest to meet Ghost. He was very fond of fantastic _and_ dangerous beasts. 

Figuring it might be Oberyn or Melisandre coming to ask about his lesson plans, Jon opened the door. It wasn't either of them.

"I missed you at breakfast and figured you might be missing yours."

"You missed me?" he gulped. 

She flushed and he remembered himself. He'd pulled on a robe over his boxers and t-shirt but cinched it up to invite her in. Sansa glided in with a tray filled with hot tea, sausages, toast and marmalade following through the air behind her. She pointed her wand to his table and the tray came to a rest there, a perfect landing. 

"Thank you for bringing it. Would you care to join me?" he asked, busily kicking his shoes out of the way. He had a spare chair she could use. He needed to get that sweater off of it first. He rubbed his hands together at the thoughts of food and the thoughts of her company.

"I've already eaten but didn't want you going hungry. You need your strength."

He did. He also needed rest but he felt restless alone here and didn't want her to go. "Would you care to sit and keep me company while I eat? I'd very much like it if you would."

"Of course, Jon. I'd love to."

The pair of them sat down and Jon started to tuck in just as he noticed her attire. Instead of her usual healer's robes or hospital apron, she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. She looked every bit as beautiful to him as always but with her hair up in a ponytail and the casual, muggle-style clothes, she looked almost like that teenager she'd been once upon a time once more.

"Day off?" 

"Sort of. I'm heading into Hogsmeade later to find a present for Arya's birthday and I need to pop by the owlery to post a letter on my way."

"Ah, a letter?" She only nodded. It wasn't as if she owed him any information regarding her correspondences...no matter how much he wanted to know. "I wish I could go to Hogsmeade today." _I wish I could go with you_. "But the head healer here is rather strict and told me I was to rest today."

She grinned, biting at her lip. "She can be quite a tyrant some of the children say."

"Those children are mistaken if they could ever call such a sweet lady that."

"Thank you." Oh, she was flushing again and breathtaking. "And I'd love to have your company in Hogsmeade...but you should probably rest today." 

"Yes, Madam Stark," he said in a monotone voice, causing her to giggle. How he loved the melodious sound of that giggle. 

"Cheer up, Jon. We'll go together next time and I'll buy you a Butterbeer when we do."

"It's a date," he said, playfully. _ Or maybe not entirely playfully._

He did not miss her slight grimace and the way her giggling stopped at his words. _Oof, my heart. And she has a letter to post_. 

The carefree atmosphere drooped and Sansa started fidgeting with her cuff. Sansa had never been much for fidgeting in general. Was she nervous? Why? And why was he feeling a spark of dissatisfaction coiling up in his belly, a troublesome suspicion almost, even as he was outwardly calm? 

He sipped his tea, looking at her sweatshirt more closely. "The Wollongong Warriors? Since when do you follow Australian Quidditch clubs?"

"Oh, this is just an old thing," she demurred. 

"Since when have you followed Quidditch at all?" he asked more pointedly before he could help himself. She'd attended the Ravenclaw matches because nearly everyone watched their House play and she'd come to a fair few of Gryffindor's but he'd figured that was to support Robb and later Arya. Had she ever come and watched for him? "I'm sure Arya was only being funny when she said you didn't know a Quaffle from a Bludger but I know it wasn't something you were very interested in when we were younger." _Stop it. You're being an arse._

"I wasn't interested in it then and I can't say I follow it very closely overall." 

"Overall? But there are exceptions?"

Her eyes were no longer meeting his and she started buttering a piece of toast for him. He was well past needing someone to butter his toast for him. "I suppose one could never go wrong with a cannister of Bertie Botts Beans for Arya's present, don't you think?" She was stalling or trying to redirect the conversation. He didn't much care for it. His scowl probably told her as much. "I borrowed this from someone. I guess I never got it back to him." Her face was flushed scarlet as she set his piece of freshly-buttered toast back down.

His breakfast was quickly losing its appeal as his stomach closed up. That niggling suspicion swooped through his guts and an ugly creature woke from its slumber, all because of a letter and a sweatshirt. 

Meanwhile, his mind was racing through the various scenarios in which Sansa might've been loaned the sweatshirt, the rather large sweatshirt for her body borrowed from a 'him.' _It's not your business. _

"Australia's terribly far away," he said, conversationally. "Dangerously far for apparition. At least, I'm not sure I'd want to try it despite being a foolhardy Gryffindor." _And a fool in general, it seems._

"Nor I," she said, uncomfortably. "You have to be able to clearly envision your destination and splinching could be disastrous in such circumstances. My rational side can hardly deem it worth the risk. So, about Hogsmeade, if you really felt up to..."

He interrupted her implied offer (_her pity) _and continued as that horrid beast swelling in his guts started to take over. "International Portkeys can be dreadfully difficult to arrange at times. Even working through the Aurors office, they were annoying getting set up sometimes." His words were clipped, almost accusatory and her eyes were growing wider with confusion and distress. 

_You mustn't act like this! It's not your fucking business!_ part of him screamed.

_What if I want it to be?!_ the beast roared back. _If we're friends, why doesn't she just tell me who follows Quidditch in bloody Australia?!_

"Even when your brother works in Magical Transportation, it's not easy but I'm not..."

"Yes, and the Floo Network is dodgy Down Under, I've heard." 

His tone was unmistakably surly now and she noticed. "Jon, are you..."

"There's always broomsticks or Thestrals for those who want to travel so far but it's only safe to travel by night with the muggles," he pressed on. His final statement came out like he was throwing down a gauntlet. "Guess it's a good thing there's always the post." _Poorly done, Jon. What the fuck?_

"Yes. Jon, I was..."

"You know, I am quite tired from yesterday and I believe I'll lie back down for a while. I hope you enjoy your trip into Hogsmeade, Sansa," he said dismissively as he rose and headed towards his bed. 

"Of course. Did you need me to..."

"I'll be alright, thanks."

"I could pop in and check on you later if you like."

He gave her a noncommittal hum and felt lower than the lowest toadstool. He was ashamed of himself even as he crawled back into bed before she'd even made it out the door, an impossibly rude way to behave. 

_I don't feel well. We're friends. One doesn't always have to be polite with one's friends. She'll understand I didn't mean anything by it. _

_Go on and tell yourself that if it makes you feel better, you shit. _

And as morning crept on towards afternoon, he pictured Sansa wandering through Hogsmeade and laid there hating himself for behaving like an arse after everything she'd done for him yesterday. _She even brought you breakfast and you ruined it!_

When the dinner hour approached he was still lying there, hating himself even more for allowing that Green-Eyed Monster to rear its ugly head when he was supposed to be her friend.

There was only one thing for it...he would need to make amends to his friend. He needed to apologize for his intemperate behavior earlier and stop acting like a lovesick boy. Sansa didn't owe him anything and she'd been nothing but kind, giving and thoughtful since their reunion. He would show her he was capable of those things as well. 

And he would start by going to find her at dinner instead of hiding out in his quarters any longer today. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who _does_ follow Australian Quidditch? We'll find out next chapter :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon seeks out Sansa to make an apology but winds up getting to visit with another Stark first before Jon and Sansa both do some talking and overindulging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning-This is jampacked with dialogue. I'm kind of obsessed with them talking to each other but I hope it’s enjoyable.
> 
> And thank you, Amy! ❤️❤️❤️

She had not been in the Great Hall so he’d gone to the hospital wing to see if she might’ve decided to skip dinner; however, her assistants weren’t sure if Madam Stark had even returned from Hogsmeade yet.

He glanced out the window. It was getting dark out but she was a very capable witch and the times were not as dark as they had once been.

Something in his expression might’ve shown his worry though and been misinterpreted.

“Are you unwell, Professor Snow?” one of them asked.

_The poets have described it as a form of illness, I believe_. “No, not exactly. I’m…”

“You may wait in her office if you wish. She’ll return soon, I’m sure. She told us if you ever had need of her to show you right in.”

They all knew he’d been here the day before, bleeding profusely, and that Sansa had been the one to take care of him but he suspected she’d been every bit as discreet as the headmaster regarding why exactly. _Not that it will matter in the long run_. The school was a hive for gossip and that was hardly true of just the pupils.

He probably should’ve explained himself, told them that his call was a social matter and nothing professional at all. He didn’t though. He merely thanked them and was led into the room where Sansa had had his hospital bed moved yesterday, when she’d mended his hurts away from prying eyes and allowed him to lay bare the hurts that were not visible to the eye as well.

There was a comfortably shabby sofa in her office, a sunny shade of yellow with squishy blue pillows on it. He’d not seen it yesterday and figured she must’ve had it removed to make room for the bed she’d had brought in for him. He settled in one corner of the sofa, thinking through how he wished to word his apology. _Should’ve brought a bloody quill to write it down. It’ll never come out the way I want it to._

Nearly an hour passed without her return and the merry fire blazing in the hearth and the soft cushions started lulling him into a drowsy state for a time. Growing bored at last, he started pacing. He wasn’t very good at sitting still. Perhaps he should leave and attempt to make his amends in the morning. She’d probably be tired when she returned after such a long day and he’d just be a nuisance. _That and you’re nervous as hell at the thoughts of facing her._ He cringed, knowing he couldn’t deny it.

He could go and see Ghost or just go back to his quarters and rest. He could also try and come to terms with why exactly he’d grown so bloody jealous over the unknown contents of a letter and a sweatshirt borrowed from a ‘him.’ _You know why. But could she ever…_

Sansa might not hate him like he’d once believed but that didn’t mean he had any right to expect anything from her. She had been so kind offering to find a way to heal his cursed wounds permanently but would that make him any less broken?

Just as he was about to call it for the night, figuring she’d probably rather see him tomorrow if at all, something caught his eye on the table behind her desk. Earlier, he’d been determined to not look too closely at anything in here. He’d already been rude to her this morning and was pressing the bounds of their fledgling friendship enough as it was by waiting for her here uninvited. He didn’t intend to make a study of her personal effects while he was at it.

But the curiously empty fishbowl had drawn his attention. He walked over to the table, quickly glancing at the photographs of various Starks waving at him from their frames, and lifted the bowl. It was a hefty thing, elegant crystal with a leaping trout engraved on the side. It seemed like something Mrs. Stark might’ve given her daughter as a gift and something Sansa would’ve appreciated in a way none of the other children would.

Inside there was a haphazardly written note on a scrap of parchment:

_IOU one fish. _

_P.S. It was for an experiment but I’m sorry_

_-Rickon._

Jon chuckled to himself, wondering what the story behind the bowl, the note and Rickon’s experiment might be and longing to find out.

“What are you doing with that?”

He yelped and nearly dropped it. _A fine thing that would be and just like you, you idiot, to come here to make amends for acting like an arse and then break her pretty bowl. But that didn’t sound like Sansa, did it?_

He turned and almost yelped again. A decidedly green and disembodied head was sticking out of the fireplace. _Good old Floo Network._

When she recognized him, her scowl became a look of delight. “Blimey, Jon! Didn’t expect to see you here! I thought one of the students had snuck into Sansa’s office to nick something.”

“Arya,” he gasped, clutching his heart. “You scared me half to death.”

“I scared the fearless Auror, did I? Fancy that. Ah-ah-ah-_CHOO!”_ she sneezed, causing bits of ash and embers to scatter on the hearth rug.

He started laughing, quickly stamping out any embers that might smolder and took a seat on the rug in front of her. “You always were too sneaky for your own good. How are you? Alright?” He’d avoided her along with Robb the past several months but missed her terribly.

“Yeah, I’m good. Been busy chasing down my latest lead on that jade heart case.”

“The one that belonged to the Japanese Emperor centuries ago?”

Everyone had thought Arya would follow in his footsteps and become an Auror when she’d finished at Hogwarts but another calling had found her. Having discovered the less savory practices of Gringotts Wizarding Bank during an internship in Egyptian tomb curse-breaking, she’d made it her mission to restore some of the wizarding artifacts and treasures they’d stolen from other countries over the years and return them to their rightful owners or their descendants. Needless to say, she wasn’t very well liked in sections of Diagon Alley and the Ministry…and Arya couldn’t care less.

“That’s the one. Honestly, it’s bloody ridiculous. If it’s something goblin-made, alright, I don’t say anything but when it’s clearly not Gringotts' stuff to take, it’s not right, you know?”

“Yes, I agree.”

“Anyway, enough about me. How are you? And what’re you doing in Sansa’s office?”

“I’m waiting on her to get back from Hogsmeade.”

“_You’re_ waiting on _Sansa?_ In her office?” Even through the green flames, he could see those intelligent eyes narrowing.

He scrubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. What would she say if he told her that they’d reconciled and worked past their teenage estrangement?_ Only for me to’ve blown that this morning over a sweatshirt._

However, she continued along another track. “She’s gone to Hogsmeade, you say? Oh, what’s she getting me?”

“I don’t know and if I did I wouldn’t tell.”

“Well, be that way,” she scoffed playfully before giving him another keen look. “How are you, Jon? Not seen you in months.”

She’d always read him quite well. “I’m fine.” _I am and I’m not._

She tilted her head to the side and he couldn't meet her eyes for a moment. The lie sat heavily between them and he regretted the frown forming on her face. He wanted things to be as they always had been between them. He wasn’t sure why he was holding back from her or from Robb for that matter. Robb was a brother to him, more than Aegon ever had been, and Arya was like his little sister in a way.

_Then, don’t lie to her. Tell her._ He opened his mouth…and immediately balked. “So, you pop into your sister’s fireplace often to spy on her?” _Call yourself a Gryffindor, do you?_

Arya kindly let his aversion go and looked adorably offended. “Me? Spy on Sansa?”

“Uh huh. You used to make it your business to snoop into your big sister’s comings and goings all the time as I recall.”

“I never!”

"You did."

"Liar!"

“No, he's not and you certainly did,” an amused voice said from behind him.

Leaping to his feet, he found she'd silently returned. “Sansa! I, uh…I was…I…” It seemed he had misplaced his tongue or his brain or both.

The situation didn’t improve as he stared at her. She had a satchel casually thrown over one shoulder bulging with parcels. The sweatshirt from this morning was absent. She wore a soft creamy turtleneck under her camel-colored corduroy jacket and blue jeans. With her auburn hair all wild and windblown, the ponytail abandoned at some point during the day, she looked like she’d just walked out of the pages of some muggle’s fall fashion magazine.

_No, she looks more timeless than that._

Even better, her smile was warm and welcoming despite his behavior earlier. Her blue eyes sparkled as she quickly looked him up and down, obviously the healer trying to determine if he was alright and the friend wondering why he was here. Her cheeks were the rosiest pink and she smelled of cinnamon, butterbeer and pine trees.

In short, she was beautiful…ethereal…delectable.

_And you are a besotted fool._

“Hi, Sansa! What’d you get me?” Arya chirped behind him.

“You’ll find out on your birthday,” she told her sister. She laid down the satchel on her desk. He could tell she noticed the fishbowl was not where she’d left it as she pulled out her wand. A dust pan and small broom came out of the doorway that must lead to her bedroom and began sweeping up the ash and embers from her sister's visit.

"You're always so tidy. It's unnatural," Arya teased. 

"I'm tidy to make up for having a walking whirlwind for a sister," Sansa responded and both girls stuck their tongues out at each other.

He couldn't help chuckling, happy to see them getting along so well after the rows he'd witness when they were children. They both looked at him. “I can go if you’d rather speak with Arya alone,” he murmured, not wishing to be an intrusion.

Shaking her head, Sansa gave him a grin that made his belly swoop. "I'd rather you stay if Arya doesn't mind."

"Why would I mind? Jon's family." The sentiment was appreciated but her tone was suspiciously amused and put him on guard. 

Sansa pointed towards the sofa where he’d been sitting earlier so he took a seat, trying his best to look absorbed in the fabric of those squishy pillow and not eavesdrop too noticeably.

At first, they spoke of general matters, their parents and siblings and the dogs. Then, Arya got curious, the little snoop inside her unable to resist apparently.

“Did you give him your answer?”

_What’s this? Did you give who your answer? And what answer?_

Sansa glanced back over her shoulder at him before answering Arya’s question. He meticulously studied that blasted pillow some more. “I had already given it once as you know.”

“And will he listen this time?”

He could only see her profile but she was picking at her fingernails and clearly unhappy. “He’ll have to. I’ve not changed my mind.”

“I’m sorry, Sansa.”

“It’s alright. We move on.” She glanced back over her shoulder at him a second time. Her expression was inscrutable though a bittersweet smile touched her lips.

_We move on from what?!_ His heart started pounding as he squeezed one corner of her squishy blue pillow mercilessly. What were they talking about? Was this in regards to _the_ letter? Why did she look at him that way? Was she sad? What could he do to help? _It’s not your business unless she chooses to share it with you._

Arya let the matter go but was still prepared to quiz her sister in other ways, it seemed. “Can’t believe Jon would be in your office waiting on you to return.”

_Leave it to Arya to be blunt._

“I am pleasantly surprised by his appearance but we do both work here.”

_Leave it to Sansa to be discrete and keep things vague._

“And do you still _hate_ him?” Arya asked in that sing-songy voice reserved for needling little siblings.

“Arya!" Sansa squealed with clear embarrassment. "I never _hated_ him, not really.”

_Well, that’s a relief._

The sisters were both grinning at him now and his cheeks were growing unaccountably warm. “Are you sure I shouldn’t pop out the door and…”

Sansa gave him a stern Madam Stark look and shook her head. Arya started laughing at them both as he kept his seat and Sansa turned back to the fire. “I’ve sent your gift by owl and the next weekend you’re up at Mum and Dad’s and I’m free, we’re spending together, agreed?”

“Agreed. And bring Jon with you if he’ll come!”

He felt all warm inside at the suggestion but he still tried to demure for fear of imposing. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your time together or…” 

Sansa ignored his demurring. “I’ll certainly bring him along if he’ll come and don't worry about interrupting anything. When we want to talk without any boys about, Mum and Dad would love to spend time with you, wouldn’t they, Arya?”

“They would. Dad was just talking about you the other day when I saw him in London.”

The guilt of holding things back from people he loved shifted inside his chest again. It was a heavy thing and he knew he needed to talk to them. Not that he necessarily _had_ to share everything. Like Sansa had said, it was his news to share. As time went by though, he found that he _wanted_ to tell them. But how? And where to start?

_What’s new with me? Oh, not much. My uncle tried to kill me for putting a stop his deranged schemes to rule the world except I killed him first but he may just succeed at killing me before it’s all said and done and that’s why I can’t be an Auror anymore and yeah, my dad will no longer speak with me because of it. Rolls right off the tongue. I could pop in on Robb and Jeyne one night for coffee and then go to Winterfell with the girls to tell the rest of the Starks. Cue the looks of horror and then the pity._

If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was the thoughts of their pity. _Imagine that. The half-blood bastard boy related to a pack of Death Eaters has some self-esteem issues he still needs to work on, huh?_

Opening up to Sansa yesterday had been difficult but, because of the circumstances with her already seeing his wounds, it had been easier, too. Telling the rest of them, whether one by one or en masse, left him feeling defeated and depressed at the very thought.

As he sat there mulling over his unhappy thoughts, he realized the sisters were finishing up their conversation. They both wished Arya goodnight before she was gone in a poof and the fire returned to its more natural shades of orange and red. 

“Want something to drink?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

He rubbed his sweaty palms along his trousers as she collapsed onto the sofa next to him with a sigh. She was tired and he shouldn’t keep her too late. Now was the time to say what he’d come to say in the first place and go but he should lead off with something first, right?

“Good trip into Hogsmeade today?”

“It was, thanks, but I was there much later than I expected to be. How've you been today?"

"Miserable." Her eyes widened in alarm. "Oh, not due to my wounds or anything! Sorry to worry you! It's something else. I'm...I came to talk to you because of it."

She looked slightly less alarmed anyway. "I hope you’ve not been waiting terribly long.”

“An hour or so.” She grimaced and opened her mouth. “No, no. Please, don’t say you’re sorry or anything. I was fine with waiting. I’d wait for you for-” _forever_. He cleared his throat, unable to finish that word. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here though.” She nodded. “Sansa, I know I was rude this morning about the sweatshirt and Australia and the post and...”

“Oh, no. You weren’t…”

“Yes, I was. I felt like a shit for acting so churlishly with you. I’ve been waiting for you to return so I could make my apology. Will you permit me to?” He waited until she smiled and nodded before continuing. “I’m happy that we’re becoming friends again...or maybe I should say we’re becoming friends for the first time in a sense? This sounded better in my head.” She started chuckling. “I hate that I behaved the way I did. You didn’t deserve that and I am sorry. I’m sorry for being rude and pushy and being less than a friend should be especially when you were so kind to bring me breakfast and keep me company.”

“You’re still recovering from yesterday. We’re often not at our best socially when we’re not at our best physically.”

“That would be a convenient excuse for me to cling to but it was more than that.” She gave him an expectant look. He needed to explain himself more fully. “I noticed you reading a letter the other morning during breakfast and your particular expression...you looked...it's hard to describe but it stayed with me. Then, you mentioned posting a letter and seemed reluctant to discuss the sweatshirt and…” His cheeks were burning. How much could he reveal about his feelings without risking them all? He wasn’t sure his heart could take a flat out dismissal right now. “I don’t have any right to but I became very curious about who wrote to you and who you were writing and I found myself getting more and more...curious.” _Jealous_.

“And, why were you so _curious_ about it, do you think?” 

There was a shy sweetness to her expression that left him breathless. “Because I like you.” She looked startled again. _Shit!_ “I mean, of course, I like you. I’ve always liked you. And, we’re friends, right? I accused Arya of snooping but I suppose I’m just as bad. I should’ve just come out and asked instead of behaving like an arse.” The startled look disappeared to be replaced by a more contemplative look. "I'm sorry."

“Yes, we’re friends,” she said, repeating his words. He couldn’t tell if she was pleased by them or not.

_Wait, are you disappointed at me labeling us as friends? What does that look mean?! FUCK!! Do I backtrack and admit that I don’t just like you but I like you, like you?! That I’d like to be more than friends if possible?! ARRGHHHH!! _

But, before he could screw up his courage and go for broke, she was back to smiling. “I didn’t really think you were an arse, Jon.” He raised his eyebrows incredulously. “Not a complete arse anyway,” she smirked.

“Well, thank you. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive _you?_ Are you suggesting you need forgiveness from me, the woman who spent over a decade ignoring you for trying to protect me from my horrible boyfriend when we were teenagers simply because you grew a little overly inquisitive and then short with me this morning?”

“No? I mean, yes? I, uh…I’m confused.” She laughed. “Yes, I would love to be forgiven for all that…I think.”

She laughed harder, leaning into his shoulder and bewitching him with her fragrance again. “It’s alright, Jon, and I forgive you if that helps.”

“It does. Thank you, Sansa." He cleared his throat awkwardly before choosing to ask something else. "So, what did you get Arya?”

“Promise not to tell?”

“I promise.”

She went and fetched her satchel from the desk to show him what she’d bought. Arya was getting a cannister of Bertie Botts Beans but best of all, a new set of Omnioculars. “I heard her mentioning to Bran hers broke.”

“Those are nice ones.”

“She can use them for whenever she gets to go to another Quidditch match but also for work. I suppose she might do some snooping with them,” she finished thoughtfully.

“Well, that sounds like Arya.”

“I also stocked up on some sweets for my patients but I missed dinner and…” She glanced around conspiratorially as if she had a great secret to share. 

“And?”

“I usually test a few first.”

“You usually test a few sweets, Madam Stark?”

“For science as the muggles might say. Care to join me?”

He grinned, delighted to play along and share her treats. “I think that’s a marvelous idea. As it so happens, I missed dinner as well.” 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She pulled two bottles of butterbeer out of her satchel with a flourish. She tapped them with her wand and they grew frosty. “Care for that drink now?”

“I would love it.” He opened hers and then his as she spread out their feast between them. They rubbed their hands together with childish glee, giggling at their own antics. He adopted a serious expression as he picked up a Chocolate Frog. “Now, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I wholeheartedly commend you for having chocolate on hand at all times on the off chance a rogue dementor shows up.”

“Yes, of course, Professor Snow. We mustn’t neglect the basics. Shall we begin with one of them?” she asked with an equally serious expression. 

“We shall.” He placed one in her hand. “Ladies first.”

* * *

“I ate far too much candy,” he moaned an hour later. “How could you allow me to eat that much candy? It’s not even Halloween yet.”

“How could you let me drink the elderflower wine on top of eating all that candy?” she asked, smothering a hiccup. “Do you really still eat candy on Halloween?”

“Who _doesn’t_ eat candy on Halloween? And you can’t blame the wine on me. You’re the one who brought it out this time…and the firewhisky,” he added just as he failed miserably to cover his belch.

“Jon Snow!” she gasped in mock outrage.

“Sansa Stark!” he replied with a goofy grin, turning towards her on the sofa. “I do humbly apologize for belching in your presence, my lady. Are you going to hex me?”

“No, this is a no hexing zone. You’re forgiven…this time.”

“Thank you.”

“My brothers would do worse than belching.”

“Good thing I’m not your brother.” _Because regardless of how I feel about Robb and Arya, I certainly don’t think of you like a sister. _

“Yes, a good thing,” she murmured. 

Her face seemed to have flushed slightly or was that just the wine? She nestled up against him with a sigh and he really didn’t want to go. 

They’d been quite companionable this past hour, laughing over old times. And as the candy pile dwindled between them, they’d kept moving closer to each other until there was hardly any daylight between them. 

But it was getting late and their days would start early. He was also far too tempted to make this more than it was. _Plus, she might be a little drunk. _

“I should shove off. I’ve kept you up late enough.”

“But I’m comfortable here. You’re an excellent pillow and my bed’s all the way in there,” she whined, motioning towards her bedroom. Whining shouldn’t be so adorable but she made it that way. _But please, don’t remind me how close your bed is right now. I’m a little drunk, too. _

“Yeah, that’s a good twenty feet, horribly long ways off.”

“So you see it my way,” she giggled, her hands wrapping around his upper arm and making his stomach muscles clench from the delicious torment. God, he didn’t want to leave _ever!_

Deciding to delay his departure a little longer, he sunk down further into the squishy cushion, allowing her to use him as her pillow while putting an arm around her shoulder. “What kept you so late in Hogsmeade if I may ask?”

“I was speaking with someone at the Hog’s Head Inn and time got away from me.”

“The Hog’s Head Inn?” Jon had a hard time picturing Sansa in the dingy little pub. “I figured you’d be more likely to visit the Three Broomsticks.”

“Oh, I did but I was speaking with the village’s healer at Dogweed and Deathcap…”

“The Herbology shop?”

“Yes and she suggested I speak with the proprietor at the inn as he might have some answers to help guide me.”

“And this was something to do with your work, I assume?”

“Yes.” 

She ducked her head and started fiddling with a wrapper from the gummy fish they’d consumed. She liked to have some muggle candies available for any muggle born children who might prefer them. _“It can be a strange adjustment for them, I imagine, and then if they’re ill and missing home as well, it’s nice to have something familiar, isn’t it?” _She was thoughtful in a way many of his fellow professors weren’t. They might be young witches and wizards but they were also children away from their parents. 

He waited patiently for her to continue about her trip to the Hog’s Head. 

She put the wrapper aside and looked at him anxiously. “It’s about your case actually.”

“My case? You mean my…” He pointed towards his chest and she nodded. 

“I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t speak your name.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, the words coming out in an utterly gobsmacked sigh. She had gone to Hogsmeade and started investigating ways to help him with his cursed wounds as promised the very day after learning of them even after he’d been an arse. She’d spent her day off there and stayed late all in hopes of finding some way to help him. “Sansa, I don’t know how to thank you or…” 

“But I didn’t find out anything that was all that useful, I’m afraid.” She started chewing at her bottom lip. 

He took her hand in his. “And I still want to thank you for even trying. It means a lot to me.”

“I’m not going to stop trying.”

“I suspect you won’t and I love that about you.” _And I think I’m going to fall in love with you. _

He was. He might lose his head and his heart to her but he didn’t care. He was falling in love with Sansa Stark…again. _Or differently maybe?_ He’d had a crush on her once upon a time but now he was falling in love with the woman beside him. She was the same but also different than the girl he’d known just as he was still the boy he’d been in some ways and yet not. _After all this time, we’re learning about each other in new ways and all over again, too. _

A tremulous smile fought its way out of him, turning the corners of his lips upwards though she didn’t notice, too intent upon her pursuit of a cure for his uncle’s curse. He felt like singing, his heart swelling with emotion, and she was talking at a rapid clip about potions and herbs and counter-spells. 

“One thing that might be useful is Ghost. I mentioned that my unnamed friend had a direwolf and he wanted to know if you had bonded with him or not.”

“Me and Ghost bonded? I’m not sure what that means. And between, you, me and the fencepost, considering his reputation with goats, I’m not sure I want to know what he means precisely.”

They both started laughing but she said it was something to look into maybe. “Goats to one side, he knows a good deal.”

“Well, if anyone can help me, I know you can. You’re a brilliant healer.” 

“Thank you.”

“You’ve been here three years, you said.”

“Yes.”

“And, are you planning to stay here long term?”

All traces of her earlier laughter fled and her eyes flashed with anger. “Are you suggesting I shouldn’t be?”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that. I…”

“It’s an honor to be here!”

“Of course, it is.” He’d thought the same in the headmaster’s office, hadn’t he? And yet… “It is an honor to be here but I’ll admit, if I were suddenly cured and could return to being an Auror, I might leap at the chance.” She looked displeased. “But I would miss it here, I know. It’s hard to know where we belong sometimes.” 

“This is true,” she said solemnly.

“I know you’ve traveled lots of places studying with other healers and even muggle medicine. I just thought you might have plans that take you elsewhere someday.” 

“Someday, maybe so. I do have ambitions beyond Hogwarts.”

“I’m sure you do. I’d love to hear all about them.”

“It’s just that…this school is like a second home to me in a way.”

“I think many of us feel that way. It certainly felt like that for me from the moment I stepped through the doors for the first time. This place and Winterfell were more of a home to me than my father’s house ever was.”

“Then, I suppose you’d understand. It’s not like I’m hiding but…” 

His brow furrowed, not following her. “Hiding?”

“It’s just a comfort to be here when you’re trying to figure things out, you know?”

“The comfort of the familiar, yes. But you’re also doing something worthwhile here.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. And the more sensible students know it, too.”

“I’m only 28. I’m very young to be head of the hospital wing here.”

She didn’t have to convince him. “You are. You should be proud of that. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, Jon. Not everyone understood.”

“Not everyone?” he repeated. 

“You haven’t asked…about the letter or Australia since you came here tonight.”

He shook his head ruefully. He hadn’t wanted to apologize and then immediately start pressing her for answers. “I haven’t asked.” 

“I thought you wanted to know.”

“I do. But first, I’m dying to know the story behind the empty fishbowl and Rickon’s note.”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times. It was terribly sweet really the way she reminded him of a fish doing that. Then, she started laughing, laying her head on his shoulder. “The bowl was my Grandma Minisa’s. Mum gave it to me when I accepted the position here and I got a fish for it. But Rickon was still here that year and…well, my poor Yorick didn’t fare so well in potions one day.”

“Alas, poor Yorick,” he said mournfully. 

“Yes, I knew him well…for a fish,” she giggled. “I’ve kept the note because it made me laugh. Someday, I’ll get another fish, I suppose.” 

He smiled before drawing a deep breath. A friend could ask, couldn’t they? And a friend could decide whether or not they wished to answer. “Sansa, who wrote the letter you read the other morning?”

She wore a mischievous grin when she looked up from beneath her dark red eyelashes at him. There was his belly doing that swooping business again. “Still curious, are we?”

“Just like the proverbial cat. Please, don’t kill me.” 

She sighed and snuggled closer. “It was from Dickon Tarly.”

“Sam’s brother?” Sam had been his dearest friend at Hogwarts after Robb. She nodded. “He was in your year, right?” he asked, doing his best to ignore the sinking sensation in his gut. 

“Yes but we didn’t get to know each other until Sixth Year.” 

Her Sixth Year, after he’d left school, after Joffrey…when she’d started dating someone else.

He could picture him. Dickon Tarly, tall, friendly, honorable and ruggedly handsome. He’d been a Hufflepuff, same as Sam. He’d also been a chaser on Hufflepuff’s team Jon’s last year at Hogwarts. Gryffindor had won thanks to Jon capturing the snitch but not before Dickon had scored several goals on Robb, much to his friend’s chagrin. He’d gone on to play Quidditch after school. He’d become something of an international star on the pitch even and was currently playing in…

“Last time Sam mentioned him, he said Dickon had been traded from that Spanish league to an Australian club.”

“Yes, the Wollongong Warriors.”

“A long distance relationship can be tricky,” he said carefully. He would not make the mistake of allowing his jealousy to get the best of him now. Though she might very well say something to dash all his hopes, he still wanted her to know she could talk to him. He wanted to be her friend. Whether or not she might ever want more than that with him, he would always be her friend. 

“They certainly can be. When we left school, we were still together but eager to be off finding our way, too. We met up as often as we could the first couple of years but then he signed a contract in Spain and the gulf between us grew as the miles between us increased.”

“Absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder.”

“No, it doesn’t. Whenever he’d come home, we told each other nothing had changed between us but...”

“But it had.” 

“Yes.” Despite the jealous beast inside, he regretted what must’ve been a difficult time for her. “And then, there were rumors from Spain…”

He sighed, recalling a bit of that. Sam had been so angry at one of his colleagues at the Daily Prophet for posting some tabloid type article about Dickon and the female keeper on his team in Barcelona a few years ago. He’d certainly looked quite chummy with the pretty senorita in the pictures but Sam had said Dickon was furious that those pictures were posted. A spark of anger flared in Jon though at the thoughts of him cheating on Sansa.

“He didn’t cheat,” she said as if she’d read his mind. “At least, he swears he never did and I’ve chosen to believe him but…things had already started to change between us and it didn’t help matters. I tried but I couldn’t seem to feel the same about him anymore.” 

“I’m sorry, Sansa.”

“It’s alright. We stumbled along another year or so but eventually…we move on,” she said just as she’d told her sister over an hour ago. “I want him to be happy.”

“So, you’ve stayed in touch?”

“Well, that’s where it gets to our current issues. He wanted out of Spain and the Warriors offered him a lucrative contract. He asked me to move to Australia but I’d just accepted the position here at the time.”

“And he didn’t understand why you wouldn’t go with him?”

“No.” She swallowed hard. “He said I was selling myself short here and the hospital in Sydney would snap me up in a heartbeat. He said we’d be together but…he didn’t ask me to marry him and I couldn’t see making that sort of move as his girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Sansa loved this place and loved her family but she would want what her parents had in a relationship, he knew. Only the hope of a loving marriage might induce her to give up a job she’d sought and move 9000 miles away. 

“Looking back, I’m glad he didn’t ask then. If he had, I might’ve convinced myself to go and wound up marrying someone I’d already fallen out of love with just because he’d asked.”

_He was a bloody fool and I’m glad he didn’t ask. Wait…_ “Did he ever ask?”

“Yes. He came and visited over Christmas during a break in the season last year. I took time off to meet him in London. It was dreadfully cold that day and he loaned me the sweatshirt while we were at The Leaky Cauldron. He asked then. I said no. He told me to think about it.”

“He told you to think about it?” he scowled. 

“It’s not an easy thing for a man to propose marriage, I’m sure. It wasn’t easy for me to say no. Not because I want to marry him but because I still do care about his feelings. All the same, it’s a little insulting to not have your answer taken seriously. ”

“He asked again in the letter?”

“Yes. Maybe putting it in writing this time will make him see that I mean it.” He was so sorry for her pain but also relieved to know the story now. She hugged herself and shook her head. “I think maybe I should go to bed now, Jon.”

“Of course.” 

He stood and helped her to her feet. He wished he could bring some light back into her evening after all the fun they’d had together earlier. Noticing the fishbowl again, a thought came to him. He walked over to it, pulled out Rickon’s note and sat it to the side before grasping his wand. 

“Aguamenti,” he said, aiming the tip of his wand into the bowl. It rapidly filled with clear water. He picked up a package of unopened gummy fish as she came to stand beside him. “Lemon’s your favorite, right?” She nodded and he selected a yellow fish. “Piscisforis,” he said and, with a tap of his wand, the gummy fish wriggled to life, a real fish. 

He heard her soft gasp as he plopped it into the water where it promptly started swimming around. It was not anything all that amazing truly. Simple enough magic that his more talented students could likely manage but he’d like to think he’d pleased her. 

“Let’s hope he’s not made of sugar still or else he’ll dissolve.”

He looked over at her to see if she was groaning at his pathetic joke. She wasn’t groaning. Her eyes were so soft and her smile…he didn’t know if he’d brought the light back to her evening exactly but she lit him up inside with that smile. 

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing his hand. 

“You’re welcome, Sansa. Good night.”

“Good night, Jon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, our letter writer has been revealed at last. Will he make an appearance at some point? We'll see 👀
> 
> Thanks so much to those of you reading!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa have plans to visit Hogsmeade together but learn a little about wargs and boggarts first.

September had faded into October and Tormund was busy pushing wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of pumpkins up to the castle in preparation for Halloween.

When Jon would recall his excesses from a couple of weeks earlier, he wasn’t sure he wanted so much as a single Chocolate Frog this year. He’d probably get past that and manage one or three all the same, he suspected.

When he thought about that evening otherwise, his candy indulgences with Sansa and their subsequent talk particularly, he couldn’t help smiling to himself, pleased that he’d not only made amends with her but that they’d grown even closer because of that night.

Saturday, the students in their Third Year or above were looking forward to their first trip into Hogsmeade of the year. Jon was looking forward to his first trip to the village as well since classes had begun. The thatched rooftops and quaint shops of the only all-wizarding village in Britain held many happy memories from his own school days.

Even better, he’d be traveling there with Sansa this time. It wasn’t a date precisely. There was talk of butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks and a peek at the Shrieking Shack for nostalgia’s sake but no mention of Madam Puddifoot’s. _Might hold her hand on the way to the Shrieking Shack though. Friends can hold hands, can’t they?_

They were friends, friends who had taken to spending more and more of their free time together. But while Tormund might indelicately ask if there was anything brewing between him and Madam Stark, complete with waggling eyebrows, Jon denied it. As much as his heart might pine for more, they had not spoken of anything beyond friendship and he was happy to have this much of her…for now.

He did cherish some hopes though. There had been no follow-up letter from the Wollongong Warrior, much to Jon’s relief.

But, her past relationship with Dickon was part of her and he’d rather know it than be left wondering. Friends should be able to speak openly with one another about such matters without fear or judgement. He’d even wound up sharing his romantic past after Hogwarts with her as well, although his affair with Val, the American Auror he’d met in New York six years ago during his first overseas assignment, had come nowhere near a marriage proposal. Val would’ve likely hexed him for suggesting such a thing even if he’d been so inclined.

He’d been speaking from experience when he’d said that long distance relationships could be tricky and theirs had not amounted to more than some scattered nights of passion over the course of a couple of years before they’d confessed there wasn’t much else between them. Admittedly, the slight tightening he’d noticed in Sansa’s countenance and flash in her eyes as they’d talked might’ve pleased him more than it should’ve. 

Nevertheless, their joy in each other’s company seemed to be thriving just like Florian the Fish.

_“Why’d you name it that?”_ Arya had asked the other night when she’d popped in on her sister’s office once more, or rather her head had. “_Oh! Hello again, Jon. Are you sick or do you just like lurking about the hospital wing now?”_ she’d asked next with a smirk.

He’d given her a dangerous look…and she’d laughed at him.

Meanwhile, a flushed Sansa had answered about the fish’s name. _“I always liked the tale of Florian and Jonquil.”_

_“Is that one of Beedle the Bard’s stories? I guess Babbity Rabbity wouldn’t be a proper name for a fish.”_

_“No, it’s not one of Beedle’s. It’s a story of a fool who was a knight and his lady love.”_

_“I remember that one,”_ Jon had murmured.

_“You would name your fish after some lady love,”_ Arya had cackled.

_“Florian was the fool. Jonquil was the lady, Arya,”_ Sansa had replied a bit tersely.

_“Oh, right. So, where’s his Jonquil?”_

_“She’s…”_ Sansa had looked at the bowl with concern. It wasn’t really big enough for two fish to happily coexist but no doubt she’d be worried about her poor fool being lonely.

_“Sansa can be his Jonquil. She feeds him and I sure that’s all it takes to earn a fish’s affections,”_ Jon had helpfully supplied. “_Of course, sad to say, that’s true of most men, too,”_ he’d added, hoping he’d managed to be somewhat witty. It had caused both of them to laugh anyway.

The students under her care and one fool of a fish to one side though, Sansa had also been busy with another matter the past couple of weeks.

Her bright red hair had been hard to miss in the library yesterday afternoon and, with her back turned, the opportunity had been hard to pass up for the mischievous boy who dwelled within him and still liked to make his presence known from time to time.

He’d snuck up behind her, nearly unable to contain the juvenile laughter bubbling up inside him before he’d covered her eyes. _“I hope you have a pass to be in the Restricted Section, young lady,”_ he’d murmured in her ear. God, she'd smelled good. 

_“Oh, Jon! You startled me!”_ she’d gasped…and promptly walloped his shoulder with the heavy tome she’d been holding.

The Stark sisters were more alike than different in that respect he thought though he might hesitate to tell them as much. He’d rubbed his arm as a grin so broad it’d made his cheeks hurt had been spreading across his face. She’d grinned back at him, saying she was looking into direwolf lore.

_“You’ve had Ghost since he was a pup and you’re clearly very attached. I’ve been looking into the bonding of humans and direwolves. Have you ever heard of warging?”_

_“Warging? You mean when a person can transfer their spirit into another animal, particularly a wolf, or direwolf in this case?”_

_“Yes, exactly. I think that’s the sort of bonding the innkeeper meant. Have you ever dreamt something that seemed like it could’ve been Ghost’s thoughts?”_

He’d shook his head. He couldn’t recall exactly. Sometimes, his dreams were strange but wasn’t that the way of dreams? And how could a person share another creature’s thoughts? Sure, there were Animagi and werewolves but to possess another creature’s body and mind? It seemed unnatural even for wizarding folks, like a living horcrux or something.

_“I don’t think it’s anything like dark magic from what I’ve read so far.”_

_“Well, considering my father’s family…”_

_“Jon, you are not like them,”_ she’d reassured him.

Did she know how much he longed to hear that some days? Especially lately?

_“Tell me more about warging,”_ he’d told her instead and they’d found a seat at one of the tables together.

It’d been after ten o’clock when they’d left the library at last with Frey watching them walk past and muttering angrily to himself, no doubt infuriated that he couldn’t threaten them with detention.

She’d been very tired as they’d climbed a flight of stairs and nearly lost her footing when it’d started to move unexpectedly. He’d offered his arm to steady her and she’d accepted it. She’d kept hold of his arm all the way back to the hospital wing and his heart had been soaring because of it, over a woman holding his arm. But this wasn’t just any woman. It was Sansa.

After they’d bid each other goodnight and he’d crept into his bed, he’d been convinced he could still feel her warmth upon his skin. He’d laid there reflecting on everything they’d read and thinking about Ghost. When his eyes had grown heavy, he’d resolved to put the puzzle from his mind.

_“Sansa,”_ he’d murmured to himself like a plea or a prayer before falling asleep.

_The forest was vast and moonlit but dawn was not far off. The coppery tang of hot blood was still on his tongue when his keen ears heard their scurrying legs. There were many of them and this was one part of the woods he tended to avoid but his pursuit of the deer had overridden his better judgement. He growled, hating to leave his kill to them but there were far too many, too many legs and too many eyes, strange creatures not to be trifled with. He turned tail to run. They gave chase but they would only follow him so far. They did not venture beyond their hollow. If they ever did though..._

Jon gasped and sat up in his bed as the dream faded. Some cobweb or dust bunny landed on his arm. _“GAHHHH!”_ he screamed and then felt foolish. He automatically placed his hands over his chest, over his heart, his fingers feeling the rough edges of the ugly scars. He half expected to pull his hands away and find them bloody. They weren’t.

He mulled over what he’d seen, becoming more and more certain. He threw off the covers and went to put on some clothes. He needed to tell her.

* * *

“Ghost was being chased by acromantulas?”

“Yeah. They were everywhere, behind him and above and…the stuff of bloody nightmares.” She shivered. “But he got away! At least…” He scratched his beard. “Well, I’m pretty sure he got away. Shit. I need to go check on Ghost.” But he had classes to teach. “Maybe Tormund would be willing to check on him,” he mumbled to himself.

“Jon, do you realize what this means?”

“Giant spiders want to eat my friend?” he asked, the hysteria rising. _How could I leave my boy in that horrible forest?!_

“He’ll be alright. He’s strong and fast and we can check on him later,” she said softly, squeezing his hand and bringing him some comfort with her gesture. “But what I mean is, you’re a warg, Jon.”

“A warg,” he repeated, his brow creasing. Some called them skin-changers, usually with a great deal of mistrust and fear in their voices. “Terrific.” _A broken man, a freak of nature, a kinslayer and…_

“It’s wonderful.”

He glanced up to find her blue eyes studying him intently. She was still holding his hand and that was something, wasn’t it? “You think so?”

“I do. It’s something very few people can do.”

“Yes, a wonderful thing to have such god-awful nightmares. Now, I know why I’ve been craving venison of late anyway but what good does it do me?”

She only smiled at his sarcastic delivery, knowing it for a defense mechanism. “I don’t know for certain yet but it’s something. We need to figure out how long you’ve had this power though.”

The way she called it a power, as if it was truly something awe-inspiring, lifted his spirits marginally.

“I’ve got pupils who’ll be waiting if I don’t get going,” he said reluctantly at last.

He’d brought her tea and breakfast for them both to the hospital wing, unwilling to have any of their curious colleagues overhearing their discussion about his dreams that weren’t just dreams. He wished he could linger longer but work awaited.

Tyrion had told him at dinner the other night that a boggart had been found in a staffroom wardrobe and Jon had asked the headmaster about allowing it to remain so his Third Years could face one next week during lessons after they finished their theoretical discussion of them today. He’d made a sign and attached it to the wardrobe so anyone who was unaware of what lurked within would not open it by mistake.

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow for Hogsmeade then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replied. His cheeks were hurting again when he left from grinning so wide.

* * *

Saturday morning dawned sunny and bright but it would be a blustery day. Jon laid abed for several minutes, blinking at his brightening bedroom and trying to remember _why_ he had to get out of bed. It was Saturday. He had no lessons to teach. He could get food later. 

Wishing to ease his worries regarding his friend from yesterday morning, he’d stayed late with Ghost and Tormund in the forest last night. Ghost had been perfectly well despite having to surrender his kill to a bunch of acromantulas…assuming Jon hadn’t just dreamt that. He was massive but still a puppy at heart when it came to those he liked. As he’d been scratching the direwolf’s ears, Jon had asked Tormund if he knew much of wargs. 

_“Skin-changers?”_ the older man had stated with a scowl. _“Yeah, I know something of ‘em. I always thought it was a load of codswallop or maybe dodgy stuff invented by some of them Deatheat-…”_ Tormund hadn’t finished the word but Jon had known what he was thinking and started growing depressed until he’d continued. _“But that was before I knew better. They’re real and it’s a rare and fascinating ability, not dark magic at all though peculiar. A person must be born with it from what I can tell.”_

_“So you know some?”_

_“Two.”_

_“And they’re not Deatheaters or anything?”_

_“Oh, no. They’re both insufferable arses but not dark wizards anyway. Why do you ask?”_

_“Um…just curious.”_ He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to share about his potential ability with anyone but Sansa yet. 

Then, the gamekeeper-turned-professor had invited him into his hut to share a little spiced mead. Tormund’s definition of ‘a little’ was quite a bit more than Jon’s. As a result, he was groggy and a bit bleary-eyed this morning to say the least.

However, as soon as Sansa floated into his stream of conscious thoughts, he was ready to rise. Today, they were going to Hogsmeade together. Hopefully, he’d have hours of her uninterrupted company. He could not wait even as a cacophony of butterflies seemed to stir in his belly at the thought. 

He sprung from the bed. They’d agreed to have breakfast together and then head off once the students were released to go. He washed and then took a little time selecting what to wear. Clothes and fashion weren’t something he thought much about but he wanted to look nice for Sansa. He already knew she’d look beautiful even if she wore a potato sack but he’d thought of her often in her creamy turtleneck, jeans and corduroy jacket from her last trip into Hogsmeade. He’d thought of pulling that creamy turtleneck over her head and time or two as well. 

Resigned to selecting a dark grey jumper at last, he grabbed his navy pea coat and wand before heading towards breakfast, his appetite for food only matched by his eagerness to see her. 

But as he passed the staffroom not far from his quarters, he heard a muffled voice from within. 

_“No! No! No!”_ the decidedly female voice cried. 

The door was magicked so students couldn’t enter. It had to be one of the adult witches who lived here. Whatever he’d overheard might be something innocuous and was probably none of his business. All the same, his hand grasped the doorknob as his instincts waged a war with his ingrained manners. 

_“Stop it! Please...please, don't!” _

His heart was pounding now. He could not walk away. He twisted the knob and burst through the door like some righteous avenger. 

Stunned, he saw it was Sansa and her face was streaked with tears. She was holding her wand out in front of her, pointing it towards the floor that was hidden from his view by the sofa. She was trying to say something, trying to cast a spell perhaps but she seemed too distraught to do anything. Had someone attacked her? Injured her? If one of the men here had dared touch her, he’d kill them.

He rushed to her side and looked at where she was pointing her wand. His jaw dropped. Arya was lying on the floor at her sister’s feet, clearly dead. 

It was like a knife to the heart and all the air had been knocked from his body at once. His knees started to buckle. If his wounds had opened up just then, he wasn’t sure he’d even care enough to try and stop them from bleeding him dry. Why was she here? What had happened? Had she come to visit Sansa and then…what?!

“Ridd-ridd-” 

Sansa’s stuttered words were hard to understand and without warning Arya’s corpse became Ned’s.

“Daddy!” she wailed, sinking to her knees. 

How could that be? What was Ned doing here and…none of this was making sense!

And then the corpse on the floor was suddenly his own dead body and finally it _did_ make sense. Sansa gasped beside him and he saw the door of the wardrobe had been opened. It was sort of surreal seeing his own body lying on the floor of the staffroom but he was no longer fooled. 

Grim and angry, he pointed his wand at the boggart. “Here!” he shouted, drawing the creature’s attention. 

He wasn’t sure what it would become. Would it be Viserys coming for him or…

“Sansa,” he breathed, momentarily staggered at the sight of her dead body at his feet even as she was standing right beside him. “Riddikulus!”

With a loud pop, the boggart transformed into a delicate winged creature, a dragonfly perhaps, before it flew back into its abode.

“Colloportus,” he said, aiming his wand at the wardrobe to lock it back inside. He found the sign he’d placed on the wardrobe, the one warning others of the boggart within, had been tossed to the side and was lying on the floor. Did they think it some sort of game? 

His anger over the misplaced sign was still simmering when she spoke, sniffling with wounded pride. “I can handle a boggart.” 

He made sure the sign was securely in place again before walking back over to her and sitting down beside her on the floor. “I know you can.”

“I just…I was never as brave as the rest of you,” she whispered. 

“That’s not true, Sansa.”

“Yes, it is. I never would’ve put up with Joffrey for half as long as I did if I’d been…”

“You’re not to blame for his behavior. It’s easy to look back on things we could’ve done differently when we were younger and criticize ourselves but that doesn’t necessarily mean we should. Bravery might not come to you as readily as it does for Robb or Arya but that doesn’t mean you’re not brave. It’s a fine line between courage and foolhardiness and you’ve always had your own strength which I admire it.”

“Thank you, Jon.” She grimaced, slapping one hand down on her leg. “I _knew_ it wasn’t her! I knew it wasn’t and yet I couldn’t…I feel stupid.”

“Why? Because your greatest fear is seeing your loved ones hurt and not being able to save them?” It was what a boggart did after all, transformed into a person's greatest fear. 

He paused for a moment after he spoke the words. He had been one of those loved ones she’d seen. She loved him. 

_Yes but you already knew that. You knew she cared about you. You’re like family. Isn’t that what Arya called you? It doesn’t mean she’s _in _love with you or ever will be. _

_But I saw her…_

She was weeping quietly, not from some great sorrow he knew. Rather, she was shedding the last of her heightened emotions after an extremely unpleasant experience. He pulled her into his arms without hesitation, allowing himself that comfort after his own moment of terror, the prospect of a world with no Sansa in it and him helpless to do anything about it. _I love her…and not like family._

Indulging his daydreams for just a little while, he nuzzled into her hair, whispering words of reassurance to accompany his sighing heart. “It’s a realistic fear and a daunting one. There’s nothing remotely stupid about it. And I’ll bet if your mum was faced with a boggart, it would be much the same for her.” 

She nodded and slowly lifted her chin until they were staring at each other. Her nose was inches away from his. He could count every single freckle on her face this way if she’d let him. Her lips weren’t much further away than her nose. 

Several seconds passed, the tension within him threatening to spill over until he did something completely insane like kissing her with everything he had in the staffroom. He gulped at how strong that urge was and she blinked before shyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and leaning back. He released his hold on her, not sure if he was more proud of his restraint or vexed by it. 

“I’m glad you were here, Jon.”

“I am, too though I feel like this is my fault. I’d asked to keep the boggart in there to allow my students a chance to practice the spell. I don’t know why the sign was missing.”

“It’s alright. There are some here who think they’re quite funny pulling pranks and such, worse than the students honestly.”

“Well, if I find out who it was, I’ll be having a word with them.” She bit her lip and started grinning at his fearsome scowl. “Have you ever faced a boggart before?” he asked to lighten his mood. 

“Only when I was much younger, thirteen. Dad had promised to take me shopping but we stopped at Mr. Reed’s house and they were busy talking. I got bored and was told to go find his children outside. One had found its way into their shed.”

“What did you see? A giant spider?”

She laughed. “It could’ve been those but instead…” She gave him a bashful glance. “I saw the boy I liked telling me I was ugly and stupid and he would never want to kiss a girl with freckles.”

“What a stupid boy.”

“No, he wasn’t. He didn’t even know how I felt,” she said, flushing. 

_Wait…she was thirteen. Was it me? Was I the stupid boy? Oh, fuck! I think I was!_

Should he say something? Acknowledge he wasn’t aware of her crush back then? _And what if you’re wrong? What if it was some other boy the boggart became? It’s not like either of you have admitted any past crushes on each other from your school days. Do you even remember much from Fifth Year and your interactions with Sansa back then?_ He’d been so wrapped up in Quidditch, his Nimbus and having fun with Robb and his other mates. Girls had been a distant fourth as interests went most of the time…followed by schoolwork.

She frowned and continued before he could say anything. “I was a silly, selfish girl who only thought of myself.”

“You were thirteen, Sansa. It’s hardly a silly or selfish fear at that age. I faced one at twelve at my father’s house.”

“You did? What did you see?”

“A never-ending detention with Professor Thorne where he’d followed me home during the school break to tell me how I was never going to be good enough for anything and my father agreeing with everything he said.” 

“Oh, Jon. That’s quite tragic,” she said…and then started giggling. 

“Are you mocking my boyish fears of inadequacy?”

“Not at all. I just wonder what would’ve happened to your Boggart Professor Thorne if you’d used Riddikulus on him.”

“Probably would’ve changed into a dress or something,” he snorted. “I would’ve liked to’ve seen that.” He rose to his feet and then helped her up as well. “Come on. Let’s have breakfast and then we’ve got plans, don’t we?”

“We do,” she answered, the softness of her smile reducing him to a puddle all over again. 

The tracks of her tears were still visible on the apples of her cheeks. He lifted one hand to swipe them away with his thumb. Her cheeks were every bit as red as apples when he finished and as hot as burning coals. He hoped he hadn’t embarrassed her. 

“_Ahem_…shall we?” He jerked his chin towards the door and rubbed his palms along his trousers to disguise how sweaty they’d become.

“We shall,” she sighed. “I promised you a butterbeer later.”

“I can’t wait.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely planned to update Leather & Lace first but this chapter got into my head and suddenly I couldn't resist writing it! I am having so much fun with this story and want to say thanks to all of you who are following it :D 
> 
> I obviously borrowed Sansa's boggart woes from Mrs. Weasley in Chapter 9 of Order of the Phoenix. Next chapter, they will visit Hogsmeade together and Jon's cursed wounds will make an unwelcome reappearance.


	6. Chapter 6

The earlier sunshine from this morning had faded some as they left the castle following the herd of students heading to Hogsmeade but it did not affect Jon’s good mood. Sansa had recovered from her unpleasant encounter with the boggart and was chatting about a book she’d found in the Restricted Section that she’d read last night, saying it had information about wargs in it.

“Did you read the whole thing last night?”

“Mostly. I did skim some to reach the more relevant parts but it was only a thousand pages.”

“Only a thousand?! Have you ever met a book you didn’t like?”

She playfully wagged a finger at him and continued. “It was mostly about Animagi but wargs were mentioned in a chapter about those who could speak Parseltongue.”

“And wargs are viewed on par with parselmouths, are they?” he asked with a grimace.

“Only in the sense that they’re both considered very rare traits and that the individual has the ability to speak to or control animals.”

“Fantastic. Maybe I can speak to snakes, too.”

“Jon, stop being all broody about this. I promise you being a warg is not a bad thing.”

“I do not brood…” Her lips twisted into a wry grin. “_Much_,” he amended.

Her laughter was followed up by a shiver. It was chilly with the breeze to say the least. He wondered if offering his arm would be appropriate. Was that an acceptable gentlemanly thing to do with a lady friend? Was it too outdated? Or too familiar? They touched each other frequently. Sansa would sometimes lay her hand on his chest when he made her laugh. She’d rested her head on his shoulder a few times by now when they’d been up late talking.

_Don’t forget nuzzling her hair this morning._

But that was to comfort her. They were just walking and talking together. They had held each other’s hand a time or two but…

_Bloody hell, just offer your arm!_

“It’s nippy out,” he muttered when he did, his traitorous cheeks flushing in an attempt to reveal him.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his, making his belly do that swooping thing yet again. He supposed he could blame the temperature for his pink cheeks. He also wanted to believe her pink cheeks were not just the result of the temperature.

“So, business or butterbeer first?” he asked when they arrived at the village.

“Oh, business first, of course. I have a dozen more questions for the innkeeper of the Hog’s Head. I’ve some notes in my satchel so I don't forget anything and I can jot down his answers. And I thought of something I didn’t know to look for last time at the herbology shop while we’re here and...”

“You were always so studious,” he teased. “You’ll be ready to write your own book about wargs and cursed wounds before we’re done, I’d wager.”

Robb would’ve laughed over being called studious or the suggestion he’d ever wish to write a book. Arya’s eyes might’ve narrowed suspiciously before she decided to give him a shove for good measure. Sansa looked troubled and suddenly unsure of herself whereas a moment ago she’d been talking steadily; a happy, confident tide of questions, ideas and theories.

She dropped his arm and started toying with her hair. Did she think he’d meant those words unkindly?

He tentatively reached for her gloved hand. “Sansa…you know that I love what you’re trying to do for me, right? I hope you do. I want you to understand how very much I appreciate it. Everyone else who’s found out about my condition says, ‘tough luck’ and ‘give it time, you’ll learn to adapt.’ All the healers at St. Mungo's said that. You’re the one person who’s given me hope that this isn’t something I have to grin and bear for the rest of my days without at least trying to change it. And there’s nothing wrong with getting down to business first.”

The troubled look vanished and she accepted his hand. “I’m sorry. I heard a lot of teasing from others about my studiousness and how much I liked reading growing up. They made it sound like a negative trait.”

“It’s not remotely a negative trait.”

“I…thank you.”

“So, shall we visit the Hog’s Head Inn? I hear the accommodations and refreshments are quite reasonably priced there to make up for the less-than-hygienic conditions.”

He’d managed to make her laugh again, his very favorite thing to do. She laid a hand upon his chest, a very favorite thing indeed. Could she feel the way his heart went thumpity-thump when she did that? Probably not.

Underage witches and wizards were not banned from the establishment but they were not likely to see any of their students here, Jon thought as they approached the familiar wooden sign of the severed hog’s head leaking blood on a cloth.

For himself, he’d only visited it once as a student, preferring the cheerful and far cleaner Three Broomsticks. But he’d been dared to go have a drink at the Hog’s Head and he’d had a hard time declining. So, he’d glugged down his glass of water out of a filthy glass, doing his best to ignore his dodgy surroundings, and collected his golden galleon from Theon Greyjoy, that smug Slytherin arse, and never returned.

Looking around, he wondered if the place had been cleaned even once since that day in the intervening years. The windows were so grimy they appeared opaque. The floor was still strewn with sawdust but it was a darkish brown these days. And, just like during his first visit, there was a lingering barnyard smell under all the mustiness…like goats maybe.

There were only two other patrons present, a couple of older witches talking at a corner table, and the proprietor himself standing behind the bar.

He looked up from counting his till at the unexpected new customers and scoffed. “Back again, eh?”

“Yes,” Sansa said in her pleasantly melodious voice as if there was no place she’d rather be. “Two butterbeers, please.”

“I’m fresh out of butterbeer,” the innkeeper told them before he picked at his nose and subsequently flicked something off his finger which landed on the far end of the bar.

Sansa made a little gasping sound and Jon was tempted to do the same. But he’d encountered plenty of unfriendly, uncouth and even down-right undesirable types in his line of work in the past. This man wouldn’t run them off with his gruffness or even a rogue flying bogey when Sansa had made notes with questions she meant to ask.

“How about two firewhiskys then?” Jon asked. The innkeeper grumbled but went to fetch glasses and a bottle. Sansa raised her eyebrows at him. “Let us hope the alcohol can act as a disinfectant.” She stifled her giggles and cleared her throat when their drinks appeared.

Jon pulled out some coins from his pocket, figuring she’d offered to buy him a butterbeer so he could buy their firewhisky. 

Once he was paid, the innkeeper didn’t appear quite as opposed to their presence. Maybe indifferent at this point. All the same, he listened as Sansa went through her questions.

“Are you the one she’s asking all this about?” he asked Jon with an appraising look.

Jon knocked back the last of his drink, the burn nearly choking him as he decided that there was no need to lie to this man. “Yeah.”

“And you’ve a direwolf?”

“Yeah.”

“Where is he?” He looked past Jon’s shoulder towards the door as if he’d have left Ghost sitting on the sidewalk like a dog while they had drinks.

“Not here.”

Those blue eyes were back to appraising him. Whatever he saw when he looked at Jon’s grey ones must’ve sufficed for he soon started answering Sansa’s inquiries about wargs and how they bonded with their animals.

Listening to the man, Jon became even more convinced that he was bonded with Ghost. It was not something he’d thought of consciously in the past but there were times he’d almost imagined he could sense if Ghost was angry, hungry or afraid. Coupled with the wolf dream from the night before last, he needed to stop denying the ability and figure out how it might help him.

_At least, you’re not a parselmouth_. A select few members of his father’s family had been able to speak snake language and communicate with them and other reptiles in the past…some of them quite large. But not Jon and he’d been glad of that. He was always pleased to find differences between himself and the Targaryens.

But a warg? Well, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all. He probably needed to work on reaching out to Ghost and practicing this skill. He’d not asked for such a thing but maybe it could be useful…especially if he ever returned to being an Auror again.

_Oh, that’s likely,_ he thought sardonically. _And even if you find a way to stop the curse, do you want to leave Hogwarts? Could you leave her?_

He glanced her way and his heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t picture going back to a life without Sansa being a regular part of it again. Even though he’d only been here a couple of months, she’d become…he was frightened to admit how important she’d become to him, not knowing how she felt.

Drawn back to the conversation going on right in front of him, he strained to hear as Sansa lowered her voice, ever mindful of Jon’s privacy. “But how could this help with…with his wounds?”

“I don’t know for certain because it’s such a rare thing but I once heard of something called a blood bonding spell. It’s said that a cursed warg could have the effects of their curse reversed by it.”

“A blood bonding spell? Am I supposed to swap blood with Ghost?”

“I think that’s the gist of it.”

“But would that harm him? Would Ghost become…would he take on my wounds in my place?”

The innkeeper shrugged and had no more answers.

He looked to Sansa who obviously didn’t know either.

“He’s trusted me implicitly from the moment I found him as a little pup whimpering in a cramped cage with a cruel master. He’s helped me countless times and saved my life more than once. He’s part of me…and I can’t consciously risk his life that way.”

She sighed and nodded, grasping his hand and understanding him perfectly even though she wanted so much to help him. Until he knew for certain, there was no way he’d take the chance that this blood bonding spell might wind up transferring Viserys’ curse from himself to Ghost.

* * *

Jon picked up a stone, weighing it his hand. It was cold and heavy like the pit in his stomach. More than one of the windows had been shattered over the years which was why nearly all of them were boarded up. But there was one…

What difference would it make? Maybe he’d anger the spirits within. Maybe he didn’t much care if he did. He was already cursed.

_The most haunted dwelling in Britain. Might be a lovely place for me to retire to. _

But rather than act on that juvenile impulse to smash something, he let the stone drop to the ground it again. It landed heavily on his toe.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. 

_Serves you right for contemplating vandalism,_ another part of him said.

“We’ll find another way.”

The wind was howling outside the Shrieking Shack but that wasn’t the wind he’d heard. He’d been so lost in his thoughts, so downcast and defeated, he nearly didn’t catch her words. 

He turned towards her, breathing in every single detail of her loveliness with her cheeks and the tip of her nose turning from pink to red with the cold and her fuzzy blue sweater (probably soft as a kitten and wouldn’t he love to find out?) that matched her sparkling eyes under her corduroy jacket. 

“Don’t give up on me. We’ll find another way,” she said softly again.

If any person could embody the word hope, that person was Sansa. “I’d never give up on you, Sansa,” he swore. It was himself he was ready to give up on, not her, not ever. 

“I need you to believe I can do this.”

“If anyone can, I know it’s you.”

“Do you?” she asked, her eyebrows raised in clear skepticism. 

He was being childish. He’d been silent and withdrawn since they’d left the Hog’s Head. He’d let all his hopes crumble when only one door had been shut. What was the matter with him? That was no way to solve a problem. _Look for another door and if there’s no door, look for a window. _

“I do. I’m sorry for how I was…_brooding_.”

Her lips twitched into a grin. “It’s alright. I’ll admit it was a blow for me as well. But Jon,” she said imploringly, “we’re going to find a way.” 

He looked down at where their gloved hands had become twined together as they spoke. This touching was so natural to them now. So many things were becoming so natural to him when it came to Sansa. He gave her hand a tug and soon she was in his arms.

“You’re amazing and I want you to know I think the world of you,” he sighed, holding her tightly as she reciprocated the embrace. “If anyone can heal me, it’s you. I want it to be you who does. And when you do, I’ll march you into St. Mungo’s with me so you can be there when I tell them all that they were wrong and to kiss my arse and that there’s far more talented healers in the world than their ruddy hospital will ever know starting with the beautiful witch at my side.”

Simply holding her, he could _feel_ her cheeks forming a wide smile at his words. That smile warmed his heart like very little else could. She was so precious to him. When he could make Sansa smile or laugh, he felt mightier than the most powerful of wizards. 

* * *

Two hours later, they’d visited the herbology shop and Honeyduke’s where they’d restocked Sansa’s supply of treats for her patients. 

At last, it was time to head to the Three Broomsticks and that butterbeer she’d promised him weeks ago. _And try and ignore my churning stomach as I remind myself this isn’t a date. _

It was crowded inside and felt hot after being inside the drafty Hog’s Head earlier and outside in the chilly autumn air for the majority of their day. Jon tugged at his jumper and Sansa removed her jacket, laying it over her arm. They fetched their butterbeers and looked for a place to drink them. It looked to be standing room only.

“Sansa, Jon, come and join us,” a pleasant voice called, tinged with its familiar Spanish accent.

It was Oberyn, his dark eyes shining in a friendly way as he beckoned them over to the table where he sat with Melisandre and Tyrion, an interesting little trio. Melisandre often kept to herself, usually absorbed in her crystal gazing except when she attended meals in the hall. Oberyn hated Tyrion’s father with a passion and Tyrion was aware of it. And yet here, they seemed to get along. 

Jon did his best to paste on an answering smile as he waved an acknowledgment. He didn’t want to share Sansa’s company with anyone else but there wasn’t really anywhere else to sit. When he glanced at Sansa, she seemed to be a little hesitant about joining the group as well. Maybe she found Tyrion annoying. He could be ridiculously condescending at times thinking he was so clever. Or maybe she found Melisandre strange. She could be…well, she _was_ strange. 

They dodged noisy students and carried their drinks over, sitting down with their colleagues who were all in their robes instead of muggle attire like himself and Sansa. Jon started feeling decidedly old to be sat at the teachers’ table as Tyrion picked apart some new Ministry laws while all around them young witches and wizards were laughing, bickering, snogging, playing games like exploding snap or generally being raucous but merry teenagers. He didn’t want to be a teenager again but he’d like to be snogging the woman beside him far more than…_anything!_

“Are you still complaining about things that don’t concern you, Tyrion?” an unctuous voice asked from behind Jon’s seat.

He looked around to find Petyr Baelish standing there in his sleek black robes trimmed with white Ermine and toying with his little salt and pepper goatee. 

Jon’s jaw immediately started to clench. He hadn’t cared one bit for the ministry’s treasurer when he’d been with the Aurors. He’d often opposed Mormont’s requests for anything new that might help them do their work. 

“I am free to speak my mind, Baelish. It is still allowed in this country no matter what you think,” Tyrion said with a churlish look.

“What brings you to Hogsmeade, Mr. Baelish?” Melisandre asked politely to defuse the tension between the two men. 

“Why, as the Divination Teacher, surely you already know,” Baelish smirked. 

Melisandre blanched. Jon knew there’d been whispers about her abilities and even some questions from within the ministry about whether or not Divination was worth keeping as a subject at Hogwarts. 

Before she could come up with a suitable reply, Baelish was speaking again. “You look quite ravishing in that shade of blue if I may say so, my dear.”

It took Jon a second to realize Baelish was not still addressing Melisandre who was in her favored red robes. His eyes widened in surprise as Sansa’s mouth opened, apparently as at a loss for words as Melisandre had been a moment ago. He immediately felt a rush of anger filling him. It wasn’t that he couldn’t compliment her sweater but everything about Baelish set Jon’s teeth on edge as it was. Him talking to Sansa? It seemed to wake some very violent thoughts. 

“Thank you, Mr. Baelish.”

“You remind me so much of your mother. I knew her well when we were in school here and…”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that many times,” Sansa said, cutting him off and allowing an unusual hint of frost to enter her tone. 

Baelish turn around to look for a chair, apparently intending to join their little group. Oberyn was rubbing at his moustache, looking torn between curiosity over what this noxious little man was doing here and the desire to bolt and leave him behind. The other two were much the same. Jon didn’t share their curiosity. 

“Sansa, if you’re finished, we could head over to Tomes and Scrolls and look for that book you mentioned.”

In truth, the book shop in Hogsmeade didn’t have any books she wanted as far as Jon knew but he was giving her the opportunity. She clearly welcomed it. “Yes, Jon. I’m so glad you reminded me.”

“Jon Targaryen, isn’t it?” Baelish asked as if he’d never laid eyes on him before in his life when they’d worked in the same building for years.

“Snow,” he corrected with barely concealed dislike. Baelish loved stirring trouble Mormont had warned him in the past. 

He saw Oberyn’s eyes narrow dangerously. He bore his father no more love than he did Tywin Lannister. But before Jon could worry overly much, he reminded himself that Oberyn knew who his father was, had known it since the first time eleven-year-old Jon had entered his classroom years ago and the Potions Master had never held it against him. _So, that look was probably more about Baelish than me._

“Oh, yes…Snow, of course,” Baelish chuckled. “Well, born on the wrong side of the blanket doesn’t make you less his son, I suppose. I’m still astounded the board of governors permitted the headmaster to…never mind. How is your father? I saw him at the Ministry a few months ago after that nasty business with your uncle but not since then.”

“We’ve not spoke lately,” Jon said curtly. 

Sansa was already standing, throwing on her jacket. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Baelish, and thank you for inviting us over, Oberyn, but we really must be off if we’re going to get that book.” 

Baelish ignored her attempt to excuse them. “Now, that I think of it, I’ve not seen your father since you left the Ministry. Any idea what he might be up to?”

“No.”

“You know, I’ve been _dying_ of curiosity as to why you quit the Aurors exactly…or were you let go? Mormont wouldn’t tell me but it just seemed right up your ally and yet here you are reduced to teaching children.” 

He said it like it was some demeaning, dirty task and Jon could tell the others were infuriated on his behalf but also curious. Only Sansa knew the whole story and he preferred it that way. 

“Guess you’ll just have to keep _dying_ of curiosity,” Jon managed to say. _Or just die. _

But it wasn’t Petyr Baelish who was cursed. It was him. And at that horrible moment, his cursed wounds decided it was time to make themselves known again.

He felt it, that curious light-headed feeling coming on. He gulped and grasped Sansa’s arm. She winced from the roughness of his hold. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for that. He would never wish to hurt her. 

But she must’ve realized for he felt her coming to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him from collapsing in front of the students. “Oberyn, help me,” she said and he felt his weight shifting to someone physically stronger. 

Sansa raised her wand, quietly speaking the charm. In an instant, a figure of white light burst from the tip of it to race out the door of the Three Broomsticks and down the high street of Hogsmeade towards the castle. 

A Patronus charm was very advanced magic well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Levels and designed to protect witches and wizards from dark forces such as dementors by creating a forcefield of positive energy between them and their foes. But for the truly gifted, it could also be used as a means of communication, the ghostly figure of their personal protector sending their voice to whomever the witch or wizard wished to convey a message. 

_Her Patronus is a wolf. A ghost wolf,_ he thought and would’ve smiled if he hadn’t been bleeding to death. “Ghost,” he murmured before the blackness took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I know this has been a slow build and I meant to get to some TLC and a little UST in this chapter but decided to end it here. I promise we'll pick back up with Jon recovering in a room at the Three Broomsticks next chapter before they return to Hogwarts again. I hope the chapter was enjoyable all the same and thank you so much for reading!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While recovering at the Three Broomsticks, Jon has visitors along with a little too much of Tormund's spiced mead.

_The scent of pine and earth fills his nostrils. Racing through the woods on powerful legs, he’s fast and free. Nothing can threaten him here so long as he avoids the dark hollow._

_A rabbit crosses his path and he wants to give chase. But something else calls to him, some need greater than an empty belly._

_There’s cruel laughter ringing in his ears. He snarls and shakes his head. Without warning, pain assaults him. It’s a dozen claws tearing at him, ripping him to shreds. He whimpers and curls into a ball. He hates feeling weak like this._

_The pain leaves no sooner than it makes itself known. He is not injured at all and the laughter is gone. He smells no blood. He’s left confused and frightened. He wanders aimlessly towards a dew pond. The red eyes the water’s surface reflects seem different somehow._

_The voice is calling again. He heads towards the edge of the woods where the big man stands._

_“There you are! Wasn’t sure you’d answer my call without Jon here. Come along with me, Ghost. He needs you,” the man says._

***

The sights, sounds and smells of the forest were fading as Jon slowly opened his eyes, plagued by the conviction that he’d missed something. He looked around at his surroundings in an attempt to put a finger on it.

The bed was clearly not his. There was a cheery yellow quilt with broomsticks and black cats on it covering him. The pillow beneath his head was soft but the pillowcase wasn't. It wasn’t his pillow. He was down to his boxer shorts but wasn't too worried over it at the moment, more curious about the room. It was small with wood paneling and had a fire roaring in the hearth. No one else was visible. 

Where was he? He felt like he’d been here once before perhaps. He heard sounds coming from the floor below and realized he had. Maybe he’d not stayed in this particular room but one of them. This was one of the Three Broomsticks’ guest rooms and he’d stayed here once years ago as an Auror before Sansa had come to Hogwarts to work.

_Sansa…_

The pine scent in his nostrils from earlier had gone completely. He could faintly smell butterbeer and also cinnamon and bergamot. If his nose was as powerful as Ghost’s, he could smell it quite well, he thought. She had been here recently, he was sure. Where was she now?

“Oh, you’re awake,” a reedy voice said from somewhere in the room.

He startled. He’d thought himself alone but he’d been mistaken. Someone was standing next to the lone window. Or floating actually. In the moonlight, his silver hair had an even more ethereal glow than normal.

“Uncle Aemon? Is that you?”

“Yes, it is me. Aemon Targaryen. That is my name,” the ghost said with all the enthusiasm of one preparing to read a telephone book. “Aemon of House Targaryen, born in the year…”

“What are you doing here?” Jon interrupted.

Aemon could get into a bit of a flow if allowed.

Aemon didn’t like being deterred either.

“…never married, no children, the son of Maekar and Dyanna, elder brother of Aegon, uncle of Jaehaerys, great uncle of Aerys, great-great uncle of Rhaegar and your great-great-great…”

“Yes, Uncle Aemon,” Jon huffed, half vexed and half amused. “I recall how we’re related. What are you doing here? I’ve never known you to leave the castle. Isn’t that against the rules for you or something?”

“I can leave the castle,” he answered peevishly. “Ghosts cannot practice magic but they can interact with it and, while we feel strong connections with certain places, we are not bound to them unless cursed during our lives to dwell there always. I can go just about anywhere. More places than you can, young man. You can’t go through walls, can you?”

“No, I can’t but why are you _here_, Uncle Aemon?”

“The headmaster and I were engaged in a spirited discussion about the goblin rebellions when he received Madam Stark’s message via her Patronus regarding the incident here.”

Jon groaned. Now, he remembered the piece of information he’d been missing earlier. His wounds had opened up and left him helpless again. But this time, it had happened here in Hogsmeade. Not only in front of Sansa (and thank God she was here) but also in front of even more students than the previous time as well as three of his colleagues and…_Petyr Bloody Baelish_.

"Where is Sansa?"

“Gone to fetch some things to attend you, I believe. And by the by, that Miss Stark’s quite a bright witch, you know. I remember when she was a student of mine. She did an essay on the giant wars that was so full of pathos and…”

“Yes, I know Sansa’s brilliant and I’m sure she’s taken good care of me while I’ve been out of it but what prompted you to leave the castle?”

“You’re my family and you were injured, Jon. Why wouldn’t I come?”

“I…thank you,” he croaked around the sudden lump in his throat. He had not expected concern for his welfare from any of his father’s family. W_ell, he is a ghost so I suppose he doesn’t give a shit what they think. Or would my father care if he knew?_

He was still chewing on that thought when Aemon cleared his throat. “Jon Snow?” He had drifted closer and through his once black robes Jon could clearly see the other side of the room. It was always odd conversing with a ghost.

“Yes, Uncle Aemon?”

“Viserys was always an odd duck.”

“An odd duck,” Jon repeated. “Yes, that’s one way to put it.”

“Our family has had more than its share of them.” Jon sighed. There was no denying it. “You’re a bit of an odd duck, too. But not like him. You’re not evil for one thing.”

“Uh…right. Thanks, I guess?” It was nice of Aemon to come but maybe Jon would prefer he stick to haunting his classroom and putting his students to sleep after all.

“Yes, very odd. You have all manner of oddities rattling around in that brain of yours.”

“I do, do I?” he asked, a touch of impatience entering his tone.

"Aerys had grown quite paranoid, fearful of betrayal in his later days. Rossart was a skilled Legilimens."

This conversation was growing more confusing by the moment. "Rossart? My grandfather's follower? What about him? And why was he...wait," He gulped as he realized what Aemon might be implying and his stomach twisted. "Are you saying my grandfather had him use legilimency on me...as a baby?"

"Oh, yes. All of his followers were questioned along with his wife, his children and even their children in the cradle."

He had studied legilimency as well as occlumency as part of his training to be an Auror. Reading people's minds, knowing their private thoughts, it seemed wrong somehow. Ethically, he was opposed to the practice no matter its uses in ferreting out dark wizards. After all, dark wizards could practice it as well. But for his grandfather to have one of his followers probe his own mind as an infant all because he was convinced that someone would betray him? Madness. It sickened him. 

"Your mother fought against it and your father refused him at first but...well, Aerys generally got his way in end." 

"Until he didn't," Jon said with some satisfaction and felt pleased once more that his grandfather had been taken down eventually.

"Yes," Aemon shrugged. "All of the Targaryens had dragons on the mind, you know."

"Not surprising." They were the sigil of House Targaryen. Dragons were on everything from the crest over the fire place at Targaryen Manor to the tea service. _ Bloody reptiles. _ As a boy, the creatures had fascinated him. Honestly, they still did. But the violence they could wreak, the threat they posed to humans was enough to convince Jon he could never love them.

"The pride and bane of our house. Did you know that going back nearly 300 years every single Targaryen capable of performing the Patronus charm has had a dragon as their personal Patronus?"

"Really?"

"All except you."

"Not me." _Not me!_ he wanted to shout in triumph. He'd like to tell Sansa about his Patronus. He wondered if she'd find it merely a coincidence or if she'd assign some deeper meaning to it the way he wished to. "So, if there were no dragons there, what did they find in my mind?"

"Ice and fire. A red comet crossing the sky. A burning sword. The maiden embracing the warrior. A white tree with a face...”

_A load of rubbish then._ Could ghosts get a little loopy with time or had the old fellow always been like this? History of Magic had never been this interesting but then again, Jon had been known to nap during his Uncle Aemon’s lessons as well.

“Along with wolves and wargs…”

“What do you know about wolves and wargs?” he asked, suddenly quite invested in what the ghost might tell him.

“A good bit. For instance, during the fabled Dawn Age, Gaven Greywolf was a skinchanger, a warg, who was slain by the king of…”

It sounded as if Aemon was diving into another history lesson but, while there was only the slimmest hope that it might be linked to something significant to Jon, he would listen.

Or he would’ve if there hadn't been a great ruckus right outside the door at that moment.

“Oh, dear,” Aemon whispered before wafting right through the wall that led outside.

“Wait, Uncle Aemon! Come back!” 

Angered, Jon turned towards the door as it opened. His anger evaporated in an instant though as a huge white mass came bounding towards him, immediately giving him a sniff and a lick.

“Ghost!” Jon cried, as delighted as a boy to see the great direwolf in the tiny room. Strangely enough, he was feeling far better physically than he had a moment ago. The usual weakness after an episode seemed to fade with Ghost near. _We are bonded, you and I, aren’t we?_

“You can’t be bringing enormous canines up to guest rooms!” the female innkeeper was shouting. “This ain’t the bloody Hog’s Head, Tormund Giantsbane!”

“Pipe down, woman! This here’s official Hogwarts business by order of the headmaster. And, he ain’t no common dog, far less a goat.”

“Ain’t a common dog? Are you mad? Of course, he ain’t a common dog. He’s big enough to be a…” 

The innkeeper continued to harangue Tormund but Jon didn’t care. He buried his face in Ghost’s great furry neck and squeezed his friend tightly. “I’ve missed you, boy.”

“Missed him, have you? You just seen him last night. Must’ve given you too much of my spiced mead if you’ve forgotten that already,” Tormund winked as the innkeeper tromped off, apparently yielding to the giant man and the presence of the direwolf for the time being. “But what’s got you laid up here in Hogsmeade and what’s all the to-do with Madam Stark sending messages to the castle and the likes of Petyr Baelish slinking about downstairs?”

“Ugh, him,” Jon scowled over Ghost’s head. “You didn’t say anything to him, did you?” Ghost growled softly. _ I know what you feel and you know what I feel, don’t you?_

“Me talk to that arse? Not bloody likely._ I_ didn’t have too much of my spiced mead last night…which reminds me.” Tormund pulled out the largest flask Jon had ever seen from his waistcoat pocket. “Here you go. That’ll put you to rights like nothing else.”

Jon eyed the flask with trepidation. Tormund meant well but he wondered how Sansa would feel about him drinking alcohol so soon after an episode. But when he recalled his cursed wounds, the end of his career as an Auror and the things Aemon had said of his grandfather he reached for the flask and tipped it back. The mead went down sweet and smooth with barely a cough unlike the burn of the fire whisky earlier. 

He smacked his lips and grinned at Tormund. “How soon will Sansa be back?”

“Anytime now. Me and Ghost are just keeping you company until she returns.”

“And when she returns, am I going back to the castle tonight?”

“No, I think she’s wanting you to stay here overnight to rest but I don’t know for sure.”

_Overnight? Will Sansa be staying here, too? _

His grin might’ve turned devilish as he took another hearty pull on the flask. Tormund placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head, doing his best not to laugh.

“Don’t be getting ideas in that head of yours, Jon Snow. She’s a lady.”

“I know that!” _But the ideas are there all the same…_

* * *

Ghost was whimpering by the fire as Sansa scowled fiercely at the pair of them. Admittedly, Jon doubted they had made for a very melodious duet but he and Tormund had been giving their rendition of ’99 Bottles of Wiggenweld Potion’ their all, hadn’t they? 

“You’re drunk.” 

“Am not!”

“I didn’t mean you, Tormund. You could drink a barrel full with your mother’s blood in you and be tipsy at most but _he’s_ drunk,” she said firmly while pointing at Jon with her wand.

“It’s not really polite to point at somebody…especially with your wand,” Jon told her. 

She’d told him and Robb that once with her little hand on her hip when she’d been ten at most. Honestly, she’d been fucking adorable but so earnest. They’d both nodded solemnly and begged her pardon…right before Arya had snuck up behind her and shoved a fistful of mud in her hair. _God, we were such little shits back then._

And, his current chastisement was completely ruined by his snickers over the past, he feared. The snickers were followed by a hiccup. Sansa completely ignored him which was rather irksome. 

“Tormund, I assure you that alcohol is the very last thing he needed to ‘put him to rights’ in his condition. Even with me immediately working to close up the wounds, there was still substantial blood loss.”

Tormund was all abashed now, scratching at his bushy red beard and scuffing his huge booted toe along the wooden floor. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I didn’t think of it that way. I sure didn’t want to hamper Jon’s healing.”

Her fearsome scowl eased some and she patted his arm. “I know you didn’t. I thank you for coming and bringing Ghost so quickly. I’d hoped to observe them together while Jon heals but I was delayed at the castle in my return and below stairs here when I arrived.”

“Baelish?” Jon inquired, his snickers dying out at the thought of the Ministry official. 

“Yes, he’s a curious man and exceeds at stirring trouble,” she said grimly. “He’s taken a room here for the night even though he’s finished up at the castle and could simply apparate back to his house.” 

“What’s he coming ‘round for anyway?” Tormund asked. 

“I think he came to try and give poor Melisandre the sack but the headmaster has prevented it. Although, he’s awfully concerned about what Jon’s father is up to so who knows for certain.”

Tormund glanced back at him. “It’s a shame he saw you when you was…you know.”

Jon felt his lip curling up in distaste. He hated that Baelish was being so inquisitive. He hated for a man like him to know anything about his injuries, too. Plus, it compounded his guilt. More people knew the truth about why he’d left the Aurors now but Robb and the other Starks still didn’t. They deserved to know the story and not from the likes of Petyr Baelish. 

“Yes, he saw Jon was bleeding but I came up with an excuse and Oberyn and Tyrion are quite clever,” Sansa said. “I made out like Oberyn had tried jinxing Tyrion over some pettiness before Baelish arrived but it must’ve hit Jon by mistake. Everyone knows about the bad blood between the Lannisters and Martells. They took up the tale quick enough and supported me while I thoroughly scolded them as we got Jon upstairs and out of sight. I _hope_ he bought it.” 

“Ah, well done, Sansa. That’s quick thinking but he’s a crafty fellow. I could show him the door if you like, give him the old heave-ho if he don’t take the hint maybe.”

“No, don’t. You’d only risk landing yourself in Azkaban with a man like him. But I don’t want him anywhere near Jon tonight which is why Ghost will be staying here to watch over him.”

“Will you be staying here?” Jon asked quietly as he kept his eyes on Ghost, afraid of showing how dearly he wanted her to stay. 

"Well, I..."

Whatever her answer, Tormund had things to say as well. “Ghost staying here? Good luck getting the innkeeper to agree.”

“She already has. I have vouched for Ghost, saying he’ll behave like a gentleman and she's agreed to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“A direwolf’s going to behave like a gentleman?” Tormund snorted.

Sansa’s eyes were locked on Jon’s when she answered. “He will for me, I hope.”

"Do you hear that, boy? We can't make Sansa look bad, can we?" Jon asked.

Tormund said his goodbyes soon after and Sansa barred the door behind him. She rubbed her hands up and down her jeans and sat down the little handbag she'd carried in with her when she'd interrupted their singing. 

Alone at last, he felt very conscious of his state of dress like the first time this had happened up at the school. _Except now, we're not at school. _ He was under the quilt but in nothing but his boxer shorts. His blood soaked trousers and jumper were sitting on the dresser by the bed. But he felt better than he usually did after an episode. Was that all thanks to Ghost being here? Or Tormund’s mead? Or Sansa? 

_Sansa, Sansa, Sansa…are you staying the night with me?_ Ideas were stirring, alright. 

_How drunk am I?_ He held up his hand in front of his face and wriggled his fingers. He didn’t feel all that drunk. But there seemed to be more than one hand there at times. He scrubbed at his beard and collapsed against the inn’s squashy pillow in its itchy pillowcase. Thinking was too hard at the moment. 

He’d seen Sansa watching him out of the corner of her eye. She reached inside the handbag and pulled out his pillow. He could not stop the grin spreading across his face. She must’ve used an undetectable extension charm on it. _A very bright witch indeed, Aemon. The brightest I know_. 

“I really have to stop doing this to you,” he commented dryly as she replaced the inn’s pillow with his own. 

“It’s alright, Jon. We’ll see you better soon.”

“Ghost being here has helped.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You really are the best.”

“You’re just saying that so I won’t scold you for drinking too much in your condition.”

“Maybe,” he said with a cheeky wink.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Utterly. You’re still the best.” 

“Thank you.”

“Are you spending the night here? There's other rooms or I can sleep on the floor.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor.” 

“Just don’t sleep in Baelish’s room,” he implored. 

“I’d rather vomit, thanks.” 

“Of course, of course. He’s a foul little man.” He took her hand in his to show he was quite serious. “I can't stand him. I’ll kill him if he compliments your clothes again.”

She laughed. “You will do no such thing. And, I’ll return to the castle tonight. I sleep best in my own bed. I think you would too but for tonight, we’ll leave you here with Ghost. We’ll see you back to the castle in the morning. It’ll be Sunday so you can lie in.”

“Lying in on a Sunday sounds delightful.” 

“It does, doesn’t it?”

"I’ll bet your bed is nice, nicer than mine even.” What the hell had he said that for? 

“I wouldn’t know.”

“We could try them both out and compare sometime.” God, he was drunk. He needed to sleep off Tormund’s mead for the second night in a row. _No drinking tomorrow or the next day at least!_

She was giggling anyway which made him happy. “Some other time perhaps.” 

“Sansa…”

“Yes?”

"I need to tell Robb what happened. I need to tell Arya and your parents and..."

"Then, tell them, Jon. I know they'll want to know and they'll be on your side and want to help you anyway they can. They all love you."

"I love them, too. I'm scared though. I don't know how to say it."

"Just say it. I can help you. Maybe we could tell them together?"

"God, you really are the best."

"Thanks."

"Sansa?"

"Yes, Jon?"

“I don’t know. I just wanted to say Sansa. Your name is lovely.”

“That’s sweet of you, Jon.”

“I don’t know anyone half as sweet and lovely as you, Sansa.”

There was more than just a hint of pink appearing on her cheeks. “Thank you, Jon.”

“I love you, Sansa.” 

She blinked and her amused look from a moment ago wavered into something else, something less certain.

Meanwhile, his own blinkered brain was scrambling. Had he really just said that?! Would she think that was the alcohol talking? He _was_ drunk. _ It’s still true._

“Sansa…I would not lie to you.” 

_“Shhhh,”_ she told him gently with her finger pressed against his lips. He wanted to kiss her finger. Why must he be so addled right now? There were things he needed to tell her. “Not too much just now, not just yet,” she whispered. There was something so tenuous and sweet about the way she said it. It made his heart ache. “You must rest and heal.”

"You're going to help me."

"I am." 

She sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. The flames from the fireplace licked her copper tresses and her lips reminded him of some plump sweet berry he longed to taste. Ghost was no longer whimpering. He was panting and thumping his tail loudly by the fire. A very small rational voice inside Jon’s head worried how besotted he might look at the moment as he gazed at her. If he knew how to consciously slip into Ghost, he could probably find out. The rest of him didn’t care.

She brushed his hair back from his face and tenderly stroked his bearded jaw. Much more of that and he’d be panting as happily as Ghost. Her touch sparked a thousand thoughts, some sweet and some completely ungentlemanly. 

He sighed and his eyelids were growing heavy. “Sansa…”

“Do you really?” she asked quietly several minutes later. 

Did he really what? Why was everything so foggy? He yawned and smiled at her. _Tormund and his mead! _

Not sure of what she wanted to hear, he only nodded. She smiled back at him, biting at her lip. “Drink this water,” she said abruptly next, setting down a tankard and pouring some into cup. 

She helped him rise enough to drink. He loved the feel of her soft, warm hands when they’d brush his skin. He wanted more touching. What would be a subtle way to tell her that? 

Baffled over the question, he simply did as she bade him. The cold, clear water was welcome. How could his tongue feel so dry when he’d been drinking? 

He was starting to drift but could tell she was studying him. Her expression was hard to make out. “Jon, you’re drunk tonight and you’ve been through a lot today.”

“I have. I’m sorry to be such a disappointing date into Hogsmeade...not that this was a date but...it could've been a date.” He was babbling. Why couldn't he shut up?

“Don't be sorry. You need to rest and I'm going to head up to the castle. There's some clean clothes and other comforts in the bag I brought for you. Ghost will be here to watch over you and in the morning we'll see you back to the castle. You'll be groggy in the morning but...you'll feel better overall, I think. You'll be thinking straight and...I hope that...” 

She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek before she finished whatever it was she meant to say. It was chaste except her aim was off a bit. Or maybe it wasn't. He hoped it wasn’t. Sansa’s kiss on the cheek had grazed his moustache, the corner of his mouth and part of his lower cheek all at once instead. _She kissed me! _ Drunk or not, it was, hands down, the single greatest moment of his life. 

“Good night, Jon,” she said with a shy smile before rising from the bed, patting Ghost and putting her jacket back on. 

“Good night, Sansa,” he breathed as the door clicked shut behind her. 

He was drunk and she was right to leave, no doubt. He was drunk and his thoughts had been turning horny but he was also in love with her. He wanted to tell her that when his sobriety couldn't be called into question. But how would he tell her? And did she feel the same?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon returns to the castle after his night at the Three Broomsticks to learn of an alarming development. Later, he travels to London to speak with Robb and runs into someone else unexpectedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Dena, for the beautiful mood board!!

“Rise and shine, Lover Boy!” an offensively loud and jubilant voice cried the next morning.

“Bloody hell, Tormund. Let me die in peace.”

"Bah! No dying here!"

Jon whimpered pitifully as a splitting headache was making itself known. Tormund, the sadist, was drawing back the curtains. Jon pulled the quilt over his head and sunk down lower in the bed. Naturally, it was no good.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Tormund chuckled, whipping the quilt away and leaving Jon exposed in his boxers with nowhere to hide whilst informing him that the innkeeper wanted the giant dog gone bright and early so as not to terrify the other guests. “And here’s a little something for any ill effects from your overindulgence.”

“Giant dog?"

"The headmaster said it was best to suggest that Ghost was indeed just an abnormally large dog. I shouldn't've said anything suspicious last night with the likes of Baelish about," Tormund said thoughtfully, stroking his beard.

That was a good point and it made Jon feel uneasy. But then, he latched on to the other thing Tormund had said. "Wait..._my_ overindulgence? That was at least partly your fault, wasn’t it?” he grumbled as Ghost growled in sympathy from his place on the floor. He shot Tormund and the little vial in his hand a look of utter loathing next. “I’m not drinking anything you’re offering to put me to rights ever again.”

“Now, don’t be like that. And it's not liquor. Madam Stark brewed it especially for you. A special version of the pepper-upper potion she called it for your particular variety of ailment.”

“A hangover remedy? Well, give it here if Sansa made it.” Tormund winked and passed it over. “It tastes ghastly but…oh, that’s better.” His headache was already receding, thanks to the potion. The usual weakness he felt after an episode wasn’t very noticeable either. He glanced at Ghost._ I think that’s thanks to you_. “But where is Sansa? I thought she was coming.”

“Up at the castle and up to her elbows, I’m afraid.”

“Is something the matter?”

“No…well, yes. Young Edric Dayne has come out with a rash of mysterious purple spots and our good healer is trying to get to the bottom of it. Professor Lannister was saying he suspects it’s a bad batch of Skiving Snack boxes.”

Of course, the children. They were the priority, not him with his hangover. “Poor Edric,” he murmured in sympathy. He was silly to feel so downcast over not seeing Sansa this morning. And he was perfectly capable of making his way back to the castle without her aid. She had a job to do and he couldn’t take up all of her time with his problems.

On his feet again and dressed, he thanked the innkeeper profusely and promised a week’s pay for any trouble him or his 'dog' had caused. He then bid Tormund and Ghost adieu at the edge of the forest and turned towards the castle.

His return was met with curious looks and whispers from students and teachers alike. Between him collapsing in the middle of The Three Broomsticks and the rumors swirling about a great white beast being brought to the inn after the students had departed, he couldn’t say he was terribly surprised. He didn’t care much either at the moment. The strength he’d felt earlier with Ghost by his side was ebbing away with every step he took.

Could this be significant? Should he tell Sansa? He wanted to but the weakness was keenly felt now. He longed for his bed more than anything at the moment.

And there was something else plaguing him as he made his way along the serpentine corridor where his classroom and quarters were located, something which had had little to do with direwolves and drink, or looks and whispers for that matter. What _precisely_ had happened last night after Tormund’s departure?

He’d drank too much. There was no question of that. Tormund had brought his flask and, already being seriously depleted of blood, it hadn’t taken much for him to become thoroughly sloshed.

_“I don’t know. I just wanted to say Sansa. Your name is lovely.”_

_“That’s sweet of you, Jon.”_

_“I don’t know anyone half as sweet and lovely as you, Sansa.”_

He’d behaved like a lovesick fool, a _drunk_ lovesick fool. Alright…he _was_ a drunk, lovesick fool.

_“I love you, Sansa.”_

Had he really said that? While inebriated, no less?!

_“Shhhh…not too much just now, not just yet.”_

That had been her reply. He thought that was it anyway. Things were a bit blurry.

But what did that mean? Was that a ‘I like hearing this but not while you’re drunk?’ Or ‘stop talking, I don’t want to hear this at all?’ Or even ‘I’m not sure how I feel yet so let’s not discuss it right now?’

_“Do you really?”_ she’d asked quietly later on.

_God, yes. Really, really, really. I love you, Sansa._

Of course, she could’ve thought he meant that as a friend. They were friends now, very good friends. In truth, he was closer to her than anyone else in his life at this point. But they’d known each other since they were children and that wasn't so strange that they were close. Nothing overtly romantic had happened either.

_Except she kissed you goodbye._

_Pfft, a kiss on the cheek. It didn’t mean anything._

_It meant something. And she kissed the corner of your mouth._

_Yeah but…yeah._

He smiled to himself, a dreamy look in his eye while remembering that kiss as he crawled into his own bed at last. The sweet press of her lips to the corner of his mouth and suddenly his belly was clenching up in a rather pleasant way. He wanted to see her. However, a few hours rest was needed. Then, he could go find Sansa.

And if he could screw up his courage enough (and that was a big 'if'), he’d tell her yes, really, he'd meant every word he'd said to her last night.

* * *

** _NOTICE-_ **

_By order of the Headmaster and Madam Stark,_

_This area is under **quarantine** until further notice due to an outbreak of **Spattergroit.**_

_If you believe you are infected, please take a mask and see the witch at the window._

_If you are not, **KEEP OUT!**_

_(Not even missing class would be worth this!)_

Chest still heaving from his headlong flight, Jon’s mouth opened and closed of its own accord trying to make sense of it. The doors of the hospital wing had been closed, sealed shut it would seem baring one small window off to the side. He impotently clenched his fists as he read the sign a second time along with a brief description of the disease underneath.

_Spattergroit-a highly contagious disease caused by an infectious fungus. Presents with purple pustules and can have potentially serious side effects._

He'd heard of it of course. All wizarding families knew of it. He'd never known anyone personally affected by it until now. _Poor Edric._

He knew Sansa and the other healers would do everything they could to see the boy was taken care of until a safe way to transport him home could be arranged. Depending on how long it took the disease to run its course, he might be there a good while. 

Everyone had been talking about it when he’d left his room at last after his extraordinarily long nap to seek some sustenance. He’d hoped to run into Sansa in the Great Hall with dinner time nearing but there’d been no sign of her. It was Oberyn who’d told him why.

_“Let’s hope none of the other pupils were infected before the boy presented himself to the hospital wing, yes? Otherwise, we could have a whole slew of Gryffindors down with it or it could’ve spread amongst the other houses even.”_

_“Yes, that’d be bloody awful,”_ he’d agreed. 

But Spattergroit didn’t care what house a person was in. It didn’t care if you were an adolescent or an adult either.

_Sansa…_

The mere thought of her rendered ill and bed-ridden had him turning his back on Oberyn and racing down the corridor with only one thing in mind, Sansa and her well-being. The magically sealed doors and notice board had given him pause but not for long.

Jon took out his wand, heedless of good sense in his present anxiety. _“Alohmora!” _he cried, pointing at the lock. 

It rattled but remained firmly locked. He tried again, shouting louder this time. No good. The headmaster probably used some less readily breakable spell on it. No matter. He pushed up the sleeves of his robes prepared to try something else.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” a shrill voice cried from the window off to the side.

Of course, of course! He’d explain to the witch there that he had to get inside, he had to see Sansa. She'd let him in.

He hurried to the window and found one of the healers with a bubblehead charm eyeing him with deep suspicion. She looked like she was wearing a fishbowl on her head with the blasted thing though it was a very reasonable precaution considering. 

“Hello! Hello! Can you let me in?”

“Let you in? Are you ill?”

“Yes…I mean, no. I don’t have Spattergroit but…let me in. I want to see Sansa.”

"Are you mad?! It's terribly contagious!"

"Yes, I know but I can perform a bubblehead charm, too. See?" He cast the spell and found his head enclosed in a bubble, no doubt looking like he'd stuck his own head in a fishbowl. It made him wonder how Florian was doing. 

"We're not letting anyone in here unless they're needed to help or they have Spattergroit and Madam Stark is a bit too busy for social calls at the moment, Professor Snow."

"I could feed her fish." The witch was not swayed. “Alright, I'm...” Fucking hell. Of course, she was busy. What was the matter with him? "I was just...I wanted...I was going to...tell her something.” He trailed off as the heat crept up his cheeks and rational thought started to reassert itself. The witch scowled at him but he wasn’t ready to give up yet. He grasped one of the masks. “Could I just come in for a moment? Just to check on her?” An even more fearsome scowl. “Could you tell me if she’s alright at least?” he whined pathetically at last. 

“I assure you that Madam Stark is perfectly well, Professor Snow,” a very familiar voice said behind him.

He turned to find the headmaster standing there, his hands clasped together in front of his indigo robes and his blue eyes the picture of serenity.

“Yes, sir. I'm sorry about..." He looked back over his shoulder at the little window but the witch had disappeared. He couldn’t see much else beyond a wall and part of a window. “I was just worried about…my friend.”

“Yes, Jon. I can see that. I'll ask you to take my word for it that Madam Stark is taking every precaution to avoid contracting the disease that’s afflicted poor Edric.”

“Of course, I'm...I’m sorry, sir. I apologize for...” 

“It’s alright, young man. I’m aware of your…_concern_.” Those blue eyes twinkled merrily at that last word and he’d never felt like such a lovesick boy.

“Is there anything I can do to help, sir? Obviously, I'm no healer but is there something I could do to help Edric? I could gather his lessons and arrange for his schoolwork to be sent along to his home for whenever he’s recovered enough to return to it.”

“That would be most helpful, Professor Snow. The poor boy will have enough to catch up on but at least he'd have a firm notion of what needed doing.”

"Yes, sir." 

Jon glanced back at the window once more. The witch was still absent and probably hoped she'd seen the last of him. He wished there was a way to at least express his concern to Sansa though and send his well-wishes to Edric.

He'd almost forgotten the headmaster was still there until he heard him chuckling. “There are lots of ways for wizards to pass messages, you know, Jon.”

_Right_.

* * *

His quarters did not have a fireplace and this was the best one he could get access to without any students lurking. All the same, Jon knelt on the rug in front of the staff room hearth wishing he could be guaranteed a little more privacy. At least, the room was empty for now. 

He took the pinch of Floo Powder he’d borrowed from Melisandre and hoped this would work. He gave his directions loud and clear.

“Hogwarts Hospital Wing!”

He tossed the powder in the grate and stuck his head into the emerald green flames. The dancing sparks and embers filled his eyes at first and he gave an almighty sneeze.

_“AHHHH-CHOOOO!” _

“Jon!” 

He couldn’t help grinning at her yelp despite his unquestionably embarrassing entrance. 

She’d been lounging on the comfortably shabby yellow sofa in her private office. Naturally, she had a book in hand. It made him grin even wider though he was starting to second guess this method of communication now. The hour was growing late and she was in her pajamas, blue plaid flannel shot through with bronze and silver. They looked warm and snuggly and weren’t what anyone would call sexy. Apparently, he felt differently though given his noticeable twitch below the belt. _Which is rather bizarre if you consider half my body is in another room._ Maybe he should’ve sent a message in a less invasive manner.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you or intrude!”

She waved away his apology, leaping from her spot and kneeling on the rug of her own hearth. “How are you? Are you alright? Have you had any problems today after everything yesterday?” 

“No, I’m fine, thanks. I slept a lot earlier but I’m alright. I’m…” He gulped and was grateful she wouldn’t be able to see him blushing thanks the sickly green shade he’d appear to her with the Floo powder. Then again, would a blush be more appealing than being green? “I just wanted to see you, to know you’re alright, Sansa. I…I missed you today.”

Her furrowed brow relaxed and a gentle smile appeared. “I missed you, too.” She reached towards the fire for an instant, almost as if she was going to touch his face. He wanted to feel her touch so badly. At the last moment though, she pulled her hand back into her lap. 

“So, are you alright? I can only imagine how busy it’s been for you today.” Three more Gryffindors had presented sick by dinner time. 

“It’s been a nightmare but…I shouldn’t complain. I’m not the one who’s sick.”

“Thank God for that. You’re patients need you, Madam Stark. Are all the healers doing the bubblehead charm to protect them?”

“Yes, that and we were thick gloves when touching the children. That should do the trick.”

“And how are the children?”

She grimaced and a sheen of tears started to develop. “I feel so awful for them. The latest cases are still mostly in denial, telling me I must be mistaken and that someone has hexed them, but Edric is very low. He doesn’t want to leave Hogwarts.”

“I can’t blame him. When I was a boy, I’d have been very low indeed if I’d been forced to leave during the school year. I would’ve gladly taken twice as many classes rather than being forced to go home.” The tears were becoming more noticeable as she nodded in sympathy. He didn’t wish to bring her down. “I know you'll take the best care of them and feed them lots of treats." She grinned and that was better. "I wish I could see you,” he murmured next.

“You’re seeing me now, Jon.” It was true but he wanted to be closer, to touch her if she'd let him. She was blushing and he was very grateful that using the Floo Network didn’t do anything to hamper his view of her sweet blush.

“You know what I mean. I…” 

He paused. Did he really intend to confess his feelings for her whilst kneeling on the staff room’s hearth rug as his head was protruding from Sansa’s fireplace? That didn’t seem like the right time at all. _Some other time then. _

He could tell her something though, something of how much he cherished their friendship and appreciated her care of him last night. 

But, before he could say anything, he was being roughly jostled and there were bits of ash in his eyes again. If reminded him of playing Quidditch, being neck and neck with the other team’s Seeker as they sought the Snitch. He felt a sneeze building. 

“Oi! What’s this?! What’s the matter with your grate, Sansa?”

“Arya! Jon’s here, too. You’ll have to…”

“Jon’s here? Where?” he heard her ask. “I don’t see him. Blimey, Sansa, is he in your bedroom?!”

_Fuck me, I'd like to be!_

“ARYA! NO! He’s…”

_“AHHHH-CHOOO!”_

“Bless you, Jon. Arya, do you think you could...”

“Oh hello, Jon! Reckon this grate’s not big enough for the both of us, mate.”

“Hello, Arya.”

“Could you possibly…check back later, sister dear?”

“Did you like that?” Arya asked him, not hearing her sister’s request. _But I heard it! She wants to talk to me! ALONE!_ “'This grate's not big enough for the both of us.' That sounded like something they’d say in one of those American Westerns, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did,” he chuckled despite the absurdity of the situation. 

“So, what’s new at Hogwarts?”

Jon and Sansa stared at each other, a silent communication of what was to be shared. Sansa nodded and proceeded to tell her sister about the outbreak of Spattergroit. 

“How do you cure it?”

“Well, not by taking the liver of a toad and binding it tightly about the victim's throat while they stand naked by the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes, that’s for sure.”

“Bloody hell,” Arya laughed. “Who suggested that?”

After than, Arya got to the point of her unannounced visit. 

“I’ll be back in Britain in two weeks and I'm keeping my weekend free. Mum’s been asking about a visit and I thought we’d have that sister time we agreed to. And maybe our brother by another mother might like to join us,” she added whilst knocking her head playfully against his own. 

“Brother by another mother?” he scoffed.

“Well and another dad, too. Doesn’t matter. You’re family, Jon.”

“Thank you, Arya.”

“I think I’ll be free that weekend,” Sansa told her before giving him an imploring look. “I think you should come, too.”

A weekend at Winterfell. A chance to tell the Starks about what had happened and reconnect with them. And maybe a good chance to tell Sansa how he felt about her away from the distractions, responsibilities and interruptions at school, too. 

“Yeah, I think I will.” 

But not everyone would be there, more than likely. He was married with children and they lived in Wales, the coastal town of Fishguard where Jeyne was from, but he traveled to London nearly every day for his work at the Ministry. His wife was a dear girl and their children called him Uncle Jon but he thought that perhaps this conversation might be best if it were just between the two of them. 

“Actually, I think I might go visit someone else this coming weekend first.”

* * *

The following five days passed very slowly with no small amount of anxiety eating away at him in his quieter moments. There was the coming talk with Robb and worry over what his friend would say and how he’d react to him not telling him for so long. 

And then, he still worried over Sansa and missed her greatly. It had been decided that the healers who were present when the Spattergroit presented itself would remain in quarantine with the effected children until they were sent home which of course meant Sansa. A makeshift hospital wing had been set up on the seventh floor for other ailments and injuries to be seen to. 

In other news, Tormund had mentioned Petyr Baelish popping by his hut for a spot of tea.

_"Petyr Baelish...visited you?"_

_"Yeah, I thought it was rather queer meself. He was pleasant enough so I didn't toss him out on his arse anyway. Couldn't say enough nice things about you and Madam Stark though which of course I was bound to agree with." _

Petyr Baelish saying nice things about him and popping by for tea with Tormund? Had he entered an alternate dimension? 

It felt that way somewhat without Sansa around. Despite the ruckus that attended mealtimes in the Great Hall, it seemed very subdued to Jon without her sitting next to him and he found no relish in his food of late. 

However, his quieter moments were not many. He was very busy with teaching and he’d also taken on the responsibility of seeing that all the afflicted students had all their coursework organized. 

Deciding against attempting a bubblehead charm while using the Floo Network (although maybe he wouldn’t have sneezed so much that way), he’d sent a message to Edric and the other patients, wishing them well and saying how much their fellow Gryffindors missed them but also assuring them that they’d be wildly spoiled by Madam Stark (he already knew that for a fact) and that they’d soon be recuperating in the comfort of their homes. 

And his method of doing so had certainly thrilled the children and prompted Sansa to send him a letter.

He’d been scribbling down the Potions assignments for the 2nd Years when he heard a pecking at his window. One of the school owls was there with a scroll attached to its leg.

“Hello, you,” he said in the friendly way a person might speak to a non-threatening animal as he opened the window to let him in. “Ouch!” he cried the next instant when the bloody bird pecked his finger. “I’ve not got any mice or corn for you! Now, give over.” 

The bird held out his leg with the most put-upon expression he could imagine seeing on an owl’s face and he retrieved his letter. The owl flew back off as soon as he unrolled the parchment.

_Dear Professor Snow,_

_A calm environment is essential for treating the sick but you, sir, have caused the greatest stir in the history of this hospital wing whilst its been under my management with your display. Such an exhibition! It was utter anarchy trying to get these poor sick children to lie back down for over a half hour once everything was said and done._

Was he in trouble?

_And I absolutely love that you did it so much. That was so clever and thoughtful of you and you cheered these sweet children up which is always an aid to healing._

Oh, thank God. He wasn’t in trouble.

_The children can’t stop talking about the great white wolf appearing through the door and speaking in your voice, telling them all about their classes and friends and the upcoming Quidditch match versus Ravenclaw. By the way, Ravenclaw is sure to win, so there!_

Not likely.

_I hadn't thought of you having a wolf Patronus like me. Has that always been your Patronus? It's wonderful and of course it makes loads of sense for you especially <strike>but I've always thought that</strike>_

Oh, he was going to obsess over those crossed out words, wasn't he?

_Miss Redwyne is Muggleborn and had never seen or heard of the Patronus Charm before and Mr. Dayne has been telling her all about them and swears you’ll teach them all how to perform the charm next year. I wasn’t aware Third Years were taught that here at Hogwarts, Professor Snow, and perhaps I'll ask the headmaster what the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is thinking teaching such advanced magic to thirteen-year-olds. _

He could picture her smirk as she wrote that. He was smirking back at her words as he imagined Edric trying his best to impress the girl. _We’re always trying to impress the girls, aren’t we?_ _I could teach them the charm if they really want to try. _ Would Sansa be impressed by that? 

_I'm tired of being locked up here like some princess in a tower. I miss your company terribly but I’m hoping to be free in a few days once the last of the children are transported home. I know you’re seeing Robb in London on Saturday. I wish I could go with you but there’s so much catching up to do here. Give him my love and don’t worry. He loves you very dearly and he’ll understand your feelings and wishes to wait to tell him. I’ll be with you at Mum and Dad’s and we can tell them togehter if it's easier for you._

Could anyone hear his heart pounding right now? If anyone was in the room with him, they’d likely here it hammering away at her sweet words and the thoughts of going to the Starks with her the following weekend and..

“Is this a bad time?”

He yelped and dropped Sansa’s letter. “Uncle Aemon! You…it’s not really manners to just float into a person’s room that way, you know.”

“I know that,” the ghost said without the least hint of remorse. 

_Of course, I sort of barged into Sansa’s office the other night so…_

“How are you, Uncle Aemon?”

"How am I?" A flicker of a smile appeared. “I hate to break this to you, my boy, but…I’m dead.”

He shook his head, laughing. “Right, you are. Well, did you need anything from me?”

“I was wondering if we might have another chat, Jon Snow.”

“Of course, Uncle. What about? Wolves and wargs?” _Please, say yes to that. Tell me something I don’t know and maybe I can tell Sansa and it’ll help us._

“No. I wanted to speak about your father.”

“Oh…him,” he said sourly, suddenly not so keen to talk. 

“And maybe wolves and wargs later though. I have an old book somewhere…I meant to bring it with me.”

“That's alright, Uncle. You can bring it...or I can fetch it next time.” He glanced down at the rest of Sansa’s letter, wishing to finish it but knowing it could wait. Aemon might have some important news to convey. “Would you care to…well, I suppose you don’t wish to take a seat, do you?”

He was chuckling to himself again but there was no response. He looked back up to where the ghost had been a moment ago. He was gone. 

“Bloody ghosts,” he grumbled. They were the worst sort of flibbertigibbets sometimes, flitting in and out of room uninvited and then disappearing just as quick when something else occurred to them. 

Deciding to make the best of the situation, he picked Sansa’s letter back up and read it all the way through, the grin never leaving his face for an instant as he sat down to compose his own letter in reply before bed. He’d need to find an owl to take it for him. He’d better bring a treat if he didn’t want to get pecked again. 

* * *

  
The Leaky Cauldron was busy on a Saturday naturally but Jon had arrived early enough to secure them a private booth in the back. He’d ordered an ale and was dunking a bit of crusty bread into the onion soup when he looked up to find a familiar grin and pair of sparkling blue eyes that matched his sister’s looming over him. 

“Can you believe this? Snow in London so early in November? Ruddy weather,” Robb said, shrugging off his coat and dusting the table with the snowflakes that had been clinging to his auburn curls. 

Jon grinned back at him and stood up. “Well, your dad always likes to remind us that winter is coming.”

“That it is.” 

They embraced and Jon felt the lump swelling in his throat along with shame for ever thinking he couldn’t bear to tell him and see pity in his eyes. God, he'd missed him. 

They’d been boys together, suffering the ignominies and mortifications of adolescence whilst sharing very close quarters for at least nine months out of the year, often more. They’d said unkind and even cruel things to one another here or there in their less stellar moments but it didn’t change how they felt about each other. Robb was his brother. He’d do anything for him. He knew Robb felt the same. 

And he did not miss the way Robb held him tightly but carefully during their embrace nor the piercing look he gave him before he ordered himself his own bowl of soup and an ale.

“Alright, out with it,” Robb said as soon as the food and drink arrived.

“Out with what?” he gulped.

“You left a job you loved after that nasty business with your uncle without even telling me you were doing so. Your answers have been sketchy at best when I’ve pressed you about it. You’re teaching at Hogwarts, and while I say cheers to that, I’m trying to figure it out. I don’t think your old crush on my sister’s why you quit the Aurors.”

“Crush on your sister?!” he spluttered. This was _not_ what he’d come to share today. _Even if there’s more than a kernel of truth there._

“Don’t play coy with me, Jon Snow. We were in each other’s pockets growing up from the age of eleven, barely ten feet apart for most of the following seven years. Might’ve taken me a bit but I figured it out what with all the moony looks you…”

“Excuse you? Moony looks?” he huffed.

“_Moony looks,_” Robb repeated more firmly, a hint of deviltry in his eyes, “after you and Yg broke up. She said something to me about it, you know?”

“Sansa did?!”

“No, not Sansa,” Robb chuckled. “My sister was already internalizing things as a girl. She didn’t like her big brother sticking his nose in all the time either. No, Yg told me. She was on the team with us after all and she was pretty down after the Yule Ball that year and we talked one day after training.”

“And she knew I liked Sansa?”

“She knew Sansa liked you. She _suspected_ you liked her, too.”

“I…I didn’t realize.” Ygritte had barely spoken to him after their ugly row that day outside the library when they’d broke up. She’d finished at Hogwarts in June that year and gone off to do God only knew what. “Does that…did it bother you?”

“I’ll be honest…it made me more than marginally queasy, mate.”

“Oh.”

Robb startled chuckling. “I was sixteen, Jon. I didn’t say anything because I figured it’d be best to keep my nose out of it all together and I wasn’t sure what to think. That and you two had that row over that wanker Joffrey during our last year and she stopped speaking to you...and refused to be in the same room with you."

"Thanks for the reminder of my adolescent heartache."

That made Robb laugh more fully. "Well, I take it your speaking again. She speaks of you fondly in her letters since you came to Hogwarts.”

“She does?" Robb raised his eyebrows and Jon's cheeks were getting hot. "Yeah, we’re friends now. She's really...we're close.” He wasn’t sure how else to put it just yet. “So, at sixteen you had some misgivings but now, how would you feel about it?”

“We’re not teenagers anymore, Jon. She’s brilliant, beautiful, marvelous really. Too good for just any bloke, I reckon. Too good for any Hufflepuff for certain.” _ Oh, is that for Dickon? _ “But there’s this one Gryffindor fellow I know…he’s not all bad maybe. Might be just good enough to pass muster,” Robb finished with a teasing lilt in his voice. 

Jon’s lips twitched into grin. “Thanks, Robb.”

“But that’s not why you left the Aurors at the end of May. Mormont won’t tell me a damn thing and Dad’s worried about you. You’ve been politely avoiding me and all of us for nearly six months now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner that something serious was going on with you. You’re my best mate, Jon. You always will be and I’ve not been attentive enough.”

“I was blowing you off.”

“I should’ve tried harder.”

“It’s not your fault. You’ve got a job, a wife and kids. I’ve kept to myself and avoided you. I didn’t want to tell you about this to be honest because…I didn’t know how to say it because I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Goddammit, Jon, just tell me. I’m frightened to death you’re about to tell me you’re dying or something.”

“Not that but...well, it’s something like that.”

Robb listened quietly as he told the tale, all of it. It was a relief to get it off his chest. He wasn’t sure he could do this the same way with Mr. and Mrs. Stark and Arya, much less the boys, but Sansa would be there for that. He’d lean on her to help him through it. This he could do though, this he could share with his best friend knowing Robb would never judge him or wish him anything but the very best. 

He confessed the painful break from his already estranged father and the mixture of guilt and anger he felt over it. Robb was on his side just as he knew he would be. They discussed Sansa’s desire to find a way to cure him, to break the curse. Both agreed she could do it if anyone could. He even told Robb about Ghost and what he knew of wargs.

“Blimey, Jon. A direwolf. They’re technically illegal to keep here, you know.”

“I know. No one can find out about Ghost. Mormont was kind enough to not say anything and the headmaster has been gracious about letting him remain in the forest but if the wrong sort found about him…”

“He’d be hunted down.” 

A chill passed over Jon as he recalled Tormund’s mysterious visit from Petyr Baelish. He was at the Three Broomsticks that night when Tormund had brought him to stay with him, too. 

“That’s not happening,” Jon swore. No matter what, he’d protect Ghost even if he had to leave the country to do it. _Except you don’t want to leave her…ever_. 

After nearly two hours of catching up and reminiscing, they prepared to make their departures. Robb would apparate back home and he’d do the same into Hogsmeade. Maybe he’d picked up a couple of butterbeers and surprise Sansa if she wasn't too exhausted. Her poor afflicted patients had gone home at last and the hospital wing was going to be reopened today after a thorough scouring. 

As they tugged their coats and scarves back on, he heard someone calling their names.

“Robb? Is that you? Jon Snow?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Jon said as he was the first to turn. “Who’s as-…ah, fuck me. Dickon Tarly?”

“Hello! I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me,” he said brightly, shaking Jon by the hand. 

“Of course, I remember you. You’re Sam’s little brother.” Little was an interesting choice of word. 

“That’s right! We played Quidditch against each other back at Hogwarts. I was a Chaser for Hufflepuff your last year. I scored some goals…”

“Against me,” Robb said with uncharacteristic coldness.

“Right but then Jon…”

“Captured the Snitch and we won the Quidditch Cup,” Robb finished, sounding far more pleased. 

Meanwhile, Jon was still puzzling over that word little. _Bloody hell, you weren’t a head taller than me back then nor built like a full back. Did you start adding Swelling Solution to your pumpkin juice after I left school? _

“Right,” the younger man said with a nervous glance at Robb. “It’s good to see you…”

“Didn’t expect to see you in London. It’s hardly a hop, skip and a jump from Australia.”

“Right. I, uh…”

After his curt greeting, Robb didn’t seem to want to know what had brought the younger Tarly here. He didn't even let him finish and embraced Jon again. “I’ll see you later, brother. Come and visit Jeyne and the kids. They’ve missed you.”

“Thanks. We’re going to visit your mum and dad this weekend.” He took a little satisfaction from the way Dickon’s ears seemed to perk up at that ‘we’re going..’ “They’re putting up with me joining. I’m sure the girls wouldn’t mind if you came along, too,” he told Robb.

“Mum would be pleased to have us all under one roof again, I know. I’ll see if that works for my wife.” He gave Dickon a stiff nod and strode off at that.

“He’s still pissed at me, I reckon,” Dickon chuckled. 

What did he do? Pretend he didn’t know the history? Or pretend it didn’t matter to him? Well, it did matter to him. It mattered a lot. 

Sansa might not have expressed much in the way of hard feelings towards Dickon but Jon knew Robb. 

He knew him flying off to be an international Quidditch star and leaving his girl behind had likely been painful for Sansa to some degree no matter how eager they’d been to pursue their careers fresh out of Hogwarts. He knew the Starks would’ve seen the article in the _Prophet_ about the rumors from Spain and the pretty senorita same as he had even though his interest in Dickon Tarly had been merely a passing one back then. 

Arya had known about the first proposal and the last-ditch effort a couple of months ago. Sansa shared most everything with her parents and no doubt the rest of them knew of it, along with the invitation to move to Australia without a proposal to begin with three years ago when she’d been appointed to her current position at the school. The Starks were a tightknit family and Robb probably knew all this as well. And, by this point, Jon suspected he didn’t consider Dickon good enough for his little sister at all. 

“Heard you’d left the Aurors to become a teacher.”

“I did.” 

Damn, he sounded as hostile as Robb had. _And who’d you hear that from?_ Sam more than likely though a worrisome little part of him wondered if it could have been Sansa. Had he replied to her letter? Were they still writing each other even if there were no marriage plans? He didn't know for certain. He'd not broached the topic of Dickon since the night they'd ate too much candy and she'd shared the past with him. 

“I thought you were in Australia for Quidditch.”

“That’s right. I was with the Wollongong Warriors but I’m taking a little break. Maybe a longer break, I don’t know.” He shrugged and ducked his chin, giving Jon a boyish grin. _A grown man shouldn’t have dimples like that. It’s unnatural._ “I’ve got some personal things I need to figure out and…well, we’ll see.” 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Anyway, if you happen to bump into Sansa Stark at Hogwarts, would you tell her hello from me?”

“Sansa…” he repeated, not sure why he said it. _I just wanted to say your name._

“Yeah, you know. Sansa Stark, Robb’s sister.”

“Believe me, I know Sansa Stark.” Holy fuck, he’d practically growled that. Was Ghost here? 

Dickon looked taken aback for several seconds before his easy grin was back. “Right. Hope to see you around, Jon Snow.”

“Uh huh.” _ I don’t really hope to see you._

“You were a damn good Seeker.”

“Thanks but my Quidditch days are behind me for the most part, I’d say.” 

“Yeah, I get that but I’m not finished just yet.”

_Yeah, you’re still a Chaser...but she's no Golden Snitch to catch and win some game. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dun, dun, dun_...the return of the ex. However, next chapter we'll find Jon with the Starks in Winterfell without a Hufflepuff in sight :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Amy, for the mood board! The Sarcastic Venom made me chuckle :)

He paced outside the doors of the Great Hall as everyone else in the castle prepared to tuck in an hour after the last of Friday’s classes were done. He’d packed his satchel quickly, a buzzy sense of anticipation and nerves hurrying him along until he’d realized he was finished in a quarter of the time he’d thought it would take. 

He reached into his pocket, remembering something he meant to do. He'd found a Remembrall in his classroom earlier today and suspected it was left by one of the Redwyne twins. He was hopeless at remembering assignments. Apparently, he wasn't much better at keeping up with his Remembrall either. _And you nearly forgot to give it to him,_ he thought, amused at himself. 

Checking the clock, he decided to slip into the hall and give it to the boy. Having done that, he returned to an empty hallway to wait, watching the clock ticking away once more. 

Sansa had said she was all packed and would only need to ensure Florian and Jonquil were squared away. How long did it take to say goodbye to two fish?

Poor Florian, the fool of a fish, had been baffled by the addition of the pretty blue fish transformed from a gummy that color only yesterday. Sansa had declared he was merely lovestruck. He’d been swimming around his bowl in circles nonstop since then whilst the lady appeared to be unmoved by his courtly display of…well, swimming. But kept bumping into her. Could fish transformed from gummies see all that well?

The new addition had been a sudden thing. Or perhaps Sansa had had it in mind for a while.

_“I cannot leave for a whole weekend like this,”_ she'd sighed after laying down the novel she’d been reading, a rather racy romance from what he’d peeked of it when he was supposed to be grading the rather dismal batch of essays written by his First Years about the similarities and differences between Veela and Harpies.

She’d been tucked up beside him on her sofa with a cozy fire burning in her hearth. For once, there'd been no little sister sticking her head out of green flames.

_“What?”_ he’d gulped, suddenly afraid she’d changed her mind about visiting her parents with him.

If Sansa didn’t go, he didn’t think he could go either. What would he say to them?

_How about ‘hello’ for starters, you idiot?_

_I was counting on her being there with me this weekend when I told them._

_Honestly, how old are you?_

But what would they think if he appeared and she didn’t? They might think she still despised him.

_She never despised you._

_Alright but why would she change her mind at this stage?_

He’d told her that he’d seen Dickon in London because it was only right that he tell her. Friends did not keep such things from their friends even if jealous beasts dwelling within might’ve liked for him to say Dickon had been on his way to Jupiter to start up a Quidditch team there.

She’d appeared pensive when he’d told her, certainly not lovestruck. Jon was glad of that but what did she really think? Would she be moved if Dickon made some other grand gesture to go along with coming all this way? He didn’t really think so but wasn’t sure how to ask how she felt about it without fear of raising a sore subject.

_“I simply cannot leave Florian all alone that long.”_

_“You said someone would feed him for you.”_

_“I know but my Florian pines.”_

_“Pines, my lady?”_ he’d teased, feeling more at ease now since she was clearly being facetious.

_“Yes. He’s so sad and lonely.”_

_“He’s a fish.”_

_“But still he pines, Jon. I know it.”_

He’d chuckled at her romanticism and asked where her stash of gummies was hidden. She’d grinned like a little girl and hurried to fetch them.

_“Which shall be his lady love?”_

She'd studied the candies in hand one by one. _“This one. She’s meant for him, I believe.”_

_“Let’s hope she’s not meant to eat him.”_

_“Jon!”_ she’d gasped before she’d started giggling.

Next, she’d held out the gummy towards him and stood there expectantly, waiting for him to pull out his wand and turn it into Florian’s Jonquil. She could perform the spell, he knew. He’d been ridiculously chuffed over the fact that she’d wanted him to be the one to do it. And when she'd kissed his cheek before quickly taking the wriggly blue fish to plop it in the bowl, he'd felt like clicking his heels together. 

They'd told Mrs. Stark they planned to arrive around seven and she'd said she'd hold dinner. It was a bit of a walk to Hogsmeade and it'd be a bit of a walk to their house. His stomach growled, smelling the good food wafting out from the Great Hall. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting.”

He turned to see Sansa gliding down the stairs. Her hair was lit from behind by a lantern. It looked like a fiery halo of glowing copper. She gave him a grin as she drew closer, wearing jeans, boots and a puffy jacket in readiness for Scotland’s colder temperatures with her own satchel slung over her shoulder. She stole his breath away and he floundered to find his tongue.

“I-I-I d-don’t mind.”

He didn’t. He’d wait right here forever for her if she told him to.

_Who’s the greater lovestruck fool, Florian or you?_

* * *

The squeezing sensation was still unpleasant to him if he thought about it but mostly he didn't notice it. It'd been years since he'd first experienced a side-along apparition as a boy and detested it. Some witches and wizards never cared for this mode of travel enough to get their apparition license but, much as he loved flying on broomstick, it was far more practical magic for getting around and he'd gone to take his apparition test shortly after his 17th birthday. 

Robb, being a couple of months older, had waited so they could take it together. It hadn't been necessary for Robb to wait, everyone knew he'd pass on the first try, but it'd meant a lot to his nervous friend. They'd drove poor Mrs. Stark to distraction afterwards popping in and out of rooms unannounced just to hear her yelp until Mr. Stark had taken them aside for a few words and a warning. They may have been brash young wizards, full of piss and vinegar at seventeen but they weren't idiots either. 

Nearing thirty, apparition had lost its mystery and most of its thrill...until tonight.

Jon heard a faint pop as his eyes opened and the high street of Hogsmeade had become a twilit moor.

He was in one piece, however, his shoes and socks were now soaked. 

“Buggering hell.” 

“Ooh, that’s rotten luck.” Sansa had managed to apparate onto a dry patch of grass beside him. 

“Well, rotten luck seems pretty true to form for me of late.” She frowned, a sad little pout, and he decided to cease his whingeing. “No matter.” 

In truth, it’d be hard to wipe the smile from his face. Right before they’d apparated, Sansa had clasped his hand. She’d apparated dozens if not hundreds of times by now, he figured, but she’d wanted to hold his hand when they did it. They were still holding hands. He’d manage the mile or so walk to the house in soaked shoes and socks. He'd walk ten times as far if she kept holding his hand. 

They were just on the edge of the Starks’ extensive property. Robb had said when his father had been a boy, you could apparate right outside the house but when darker days had come, during Jon’s grandfather’s reign of terror, protective enchantments had been added. Now, this was the closest you could apparate. 

“I’m sorry for the lengthy walk considering.” She pointed at his shoes. 

“It’s fine. A little moonlit stroll just like the night you met Ghost will make me all the more grateful to reach your parents' hearth.” 

“It is colder here, isn’t it?” 

She gave a shiver and wrapped her arm around his, sort of like when they’d been on their way to Hogsmeade a couple of weeks earlier. Was she that cold in her puffy jacket or did she just wish to be closer? He hoped the latter but did it matter either way? No, it did not. His smile was growing wider. His cheeks might start aching soon. Let them ache from smiling.

“Do you remember those times we used the Floo Network to get home for holidays?” she asked as they crept along, mindful of marshy spots. He was surprised there wasn’t snow on the ground up here already. He held onto her using the excuse of slippery patches. 

"I do." 

When they'd been students, before Robb and Jon had passed their apparition tests, they'd had to travel via the Hogwarts Express to London and make their way home from there during school breaks. But for a time, the Starks had had their fireplace connected to the Floo Network when things had been particularly busy at the Ministry and the children had been permitted to Floo right from the headmaster's study under supervision into the family sitting room. Once Arya had brought a friend home for the holidays with her and the poor boy had said Winterhell instead of Winterfell. He'd wound up at a pub near Cape Wrath before he was recovered. He had brought back a delicious meat pie recipe with him at least. 

“Your poor mother would cover all the furniture in the sitting room in anticipation of our arrivals but there was always soot everywhere.” He glanced down at his sodden shoes. “Looks like I’ll still manage to make a mess of her floors.”

She laughed and promised him he’d be fine. 

They walked along companionably until the house came into view. A great stone edifice, more like a castle than a house in some ways though it was not so large as Hogwarts and there were no moats, defensive walls or turrets, Winterfell Keep had been built over five centuries earlier. But inside, the ground floor had been transformed and divided over the years from the austere hall it had been into a large but homey kitchen, a family room centered around a large fireplace, a study where Mr. Stark worked, a formal dining room for special occasions, a little greenhouse of sorts within the house where Mrs. Stark tended herbs for her potions and recipes alike and a well-stocked library with loads of nooks and squashy armchairs. 

On the second floor there were a dozen bedrooms for family and guests and a large room on the third floor housed the nursery where the Stark children had once romped and roughhoused on rainy or bitterly cold days though it was mostly filled with storage from the overflowing attic now. 

Through magical means, water from the hot springs underground had been channeled between the walls so that the house was always pleasantly warm. It was one of the things he’d always remembered about the Starks’ home, the warmth that flowed through it despite the somewhat severe façade. 

The moor where they'd arrived was to the south which was the direction the house faced but behind it a forest stretched on as far as the eye could see. Jon had spent many sunlit days of his boyhood exploring the woods with Robb and they’d both landed in their share of marshy spots when they’d been first learning to fly a broom along the moor. Some of his happiest memories were made here. 

He thought of Ghost as he looked at those woods now and how the direwolf might enjoy them with prey to hunt, plenty of places to hide from unfriendly eyes and no acromantulas or centaurs to challenge his supremacy.

As if summoned by his thoughts, he caught a flash white in his mind’s eye and the coppery tang of blood was on his tongue. He could see him, he could see Ghost with his kill. But he also _was_ Ghost. He could recall the chase. His pulse was still elevated from it. His powerful jaws were tearing into sinew and flesh. His grumbly belly roiled, wondering where the food was since it was still quite empty. Was that real? How close did they have to be for him to sense Ghost or join him?

“Jon?”

He lifted his eyes from the dead animal between his paws and saw her blue eyes, a questioning look of concern in the moonlight. The taste of blood lingered but it was much fainter now. 

“I’m sorry. I was…I was somewhere else.”

He proceeded to tell Sansa what he’d seen. She listened intently but before they could discuss it further, they were at the front door. It swung open and a trio of Starks met them.

“Sansa! Jon! Oh, this is so wonderful!” Mrs. Stark gushed, reaching for Sansa first.

“Hello, sweetheart. Hello, Jon,” Mr. Stark said, a welcoming smile brightening his often solemn face as they shook hands and he waited for his chance to hug his daughter. 

Mrs. Stark barely had time to give Jon a squeezing hug before Arya shouted, “Where have you been?! I’ve been here nearly an hour! Why are you holding onto him like that? Are you hurt?”

“Our time is not completely our own, Arya,” Sansa said primly, clearly piqued by her sister's impatience and inquisitive side. They were adults now but somehow the exchange reminded him keenly of them as girls, the difference being that they were smiling at each other. She also ignored the last two questions but released her hold on him, much to his regret. 

“Too right. Plus, Sansa had to say goodbye to the fish and I was unfortunate upon my arrival on the moors, I’m afraid. I tried to get her to carry me here but no joy.” 

Mrs. Stark tsked with concern at his wet feet as Ned proclaimed it rotten luck. Arya however threw her head back and laughed heartily before launching herself into his arms. He staggered only slightly before catching her weight and steadying himself. Sansa started to admonish her sister for her exuberance in spite of the affectionate smile she was giving them both. 

“It’s alright. I’ve missed her, too. I can’t hug her when she’s only a head in your hearth,” he said, wrapping the little sister of his heart tightly in his arms and ruffling her hair. 

He inhaled as his sat her down again and could smell hazelnut spread, burnt coffee and lotus blossoms clinging to her. Since when had his sense of smell become so attuned? Or had it been this way and he’d never realized? Could a warg's bond with his host animal deepen? A good question. 

They were soon led indoors where Jon was encouraged to remove his socks and shoes by the hearth by Mrs. Stark who bustled off to the kitchen to fetch him a cup of tea with a warming potion in it. _“You’ll catch your death elsewise!”_

Slightly self-conscious of his barefooted state, he shifted nervously on the settee closest to the fire, wondering if he should take out his wand and dry his socks and shoes more quickly. It would do nothing to clean the muck and mud away but it might be worth trying he’d decided…until Sansa sat down beside him. She threw one of her mother’s hand-knitted blankets over their laps and placed her hand in his with a smile.

“Now, we’ll be warm after our journey.”

“I’m sure of it,” he said softly as his heart was surely thumping loud enough for anyone to hear.

“It’s very good to see you here again, Jon. I’ve been _curious_ about how you’ve been keeping lately,” Ned said from his armchair nearby, clearly measuring his words. 

“I know. I saw Robb last week. I’m sorry I’ve not been ‘round.”

“It was quite a shock when Jeor told me you’d left the Aurors.” 

Only a glimmer of reproach colored his words. His abilities and zeal aside, it was Ned who had helped Jon get on with the Aurors, his connection with the Starks helping to gloss over the family ties that made many in the Ministry look at him askance. 

“I’m sorry. I should've popped by to tell you.”

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s just that the Ministry’s not the same without you there.”

“I was never anyone special there.” 

“You are to me.” Jon couldn’t seem to swallow with those words still hanging heavy in the air. Or it might’ve been the lump in his throat making it difficult. “It was nice having two of my boys there.” 

Ned smiled at him encouragingly. It was not the first time he'd referred to him as if he were his son or as good as. Jon always swelled with pride when he did. But for once, he couldn't smile back. His eyes dropped to his lap where he was still holding Sansa’s hand, silently focusing on the ticking of the grandfather clock across the way.

Arya joined them, flopping onto the sofa in dramatic style to announce that Robb and Jeyne and the kids were coming to visit tomorrow and would stay for dinner but that Bran and Rickon were expected to be home soon. 

“Mum’s beside herself having the whole family here at once.”

The whole family. The _whole_ family. The whole _family_. The words kept echoing around his head like Ned’s ‘you are to me.’ He was still staring at Sansa’s hand and focusing on the ticking clock. 

Robb already knew and he could tell his wife. Their children were small, too small to be worrying over Uncle Jon’s misfortunes. 

Bran and Rickon…he loved the boys. They were like little brothers to him but they were younger by a good number of years. He could tell them. He _would_ tell them but maybe that conversation could be held later and with less gravity. 

He raised his head to look at Sansa and realized she was staring at him. How long had she been staring? He received the same questioning look of concern as earlier. 

“Yes, quite time,” he told her with a nod as if she'd asked. 

Mrs. Stark came back in with his tea, setting it down beside him. He felt rather than saw her eyes flicker to where he and Sansa were holding hands. She would be curious about that but it wouldn’t be him she’d question. What would Sansa say to her mother about them? What did Sansa feel for him precisely? Those questions would wait for the moment. 

Mrs. Stark started to head back out again. He knew she would wish to make the evening’s meal a feast to remember with so many of her pack home to share it but he figured a talented witch like her could spare him a little time.

“Mrs. Stark...Catelyn? If dinner might wait a few minutes, there’s something I’d like to tell the three of you.”

"Of course, Jon." 

She gave her wand a flick and he could hear muted sounds coming from the kitchen where no person was before giving him her full attention, settling on the arm of her husband's chair. Ned automatically wrapped an arm around his wife's waist and the contented domesticity of it struck Jon forcefully for a moment, knowing it was something he might like to have himself someday, something he'd like to have with their daughter sitting beside him. 

Arya had ceased her flopping pose. She was sitting upright, on the edge of the sofa and waiting. 

Three sets of eyes were fully upon him and he would almost swear they were on the verge of letting a relieved sigh escaped, hedged with tension over the unknown. In their hearts, they’d known he’d been keeping something to himself. They were relieved he was going to share it but worried, too. Mrs. Stark’s expression was a perfect match of her daughter’s from a moment ago. 

The words seemed to taunt him stuck inside his brain, unwilling to escape his mouth. He focused on the ticking clock again. Tick-tock, tick-tock. Time passing him by. Tick, tick, tick. For all he knew, each minute could be his last until these cursed wounds were healed. All this time of keeping his secrets to himself, of trying to handle things alone when he didn’t have to. He never did. It was time to tell the truth. 

Sansa gently squeezed his hand and, no sooner than she did that, the words spilled from his mouth with ease. 

* * *

“These are dry, Jon.”

“Alright.” 

He raised his wand and carefully took aim at the cupboard. The stack of dishes floated from the countertop to their proper place. _ Thank God._ Though she would hardly harangue him if he did, he’d be horrified if he’d dropped Mrs. Stark’s dishes. He heard Ned chuckling at his relieved sigh. 

Dinner had been quite merry despite the shadow of his news weighing over everyone. Sansa had been bright and chipper in contrast to Arya’s initial anger. The anger wasn’t for him though, it was for his uncle and his father. But Ned had spoken a quiet word and his daughter’s wrath had simmered down with the arrival of Bran and Rickon. 

The boys had moved into a flat together in Belfast where Bran was helping archive centuries old Irish wizarding folklore and songs for future generations. _“They are fine storytellers. T’would be a shame and a pity if it were all lost.”_

_“‘T’would?’ Are you gonna talk like ‘em all weekend? Don’t I hear enough of you waxing on about poets and such during the week?”_ Rickon had huffed. 

As for Rickon, he was busy…well, getting up to mischief mostly. _“It is not mischief. I am interested in discoveries, like the muggles with their scientists.”_

_“And setting things on fire.”_

_“That was an accident! I was merely testing a theory, Bran!”_

_“Alas, poor Yorick,”_ Jon had murmured under his breath, causing Sansa to erupt with giggles.

_“Since when did you two become so cozy? Sansa, I thought you hated Jon.” _

They’d both blinked at Rickon, like deer caught in headlights. Sansa had finally stammered out, _“I never hated Jon!”_

Meanwhile, Jon had caught a smirk being exchanged between Mrs. Stark and Arya before they’d both turned to grin at him. He’d become fascinated by his napkin at that point and soon enough the conversation flowed onward. 

_Nearly found out. _

But did they think Sansa might have feelings for him, too? Good question. One he’d love the answer to.

Despite his claims that he was not in fact in the habit of setting things on fire, Rickon had managed to set the hearth rug on fire when trying to demonstrate the proper way to make s’mores, some muggle treat that he’d heard about through some acquaintances. Bran had gone to set things to rights as Catelyn had been haranguing the youngest Stark. The girls had escaped upstairs to enjoy some of that sister time they’d mentioned. 

Thus, he found himself alone in the kitchen with Ned after they’d both offered to tidy up, neither wishing to witness one of Cat’s haranguings even if they weren’t on the receiving end of it.

“Baelish has been sniffing around lately, you say?” Ned asked, continuing their conversation. 

“He was in Hogsmeade when I had my last, _uh_…episode.” He didn’t know what else to call it. “He went to Tormund’s, too. I know Tormund would never intentionally tell anything but I’ve got to wonder if he didn’t say something.”

Ned grimaced. He was aware of Tormund’s talkative nature. “He’s always been a curious little man, trying to worm his way into Robert’s good graces. Robert never cared for him but he never got rid of him either.”

“He’s a wonder with coin, I’ve heard.”

“That and other things. He’s always got his ear to the ground and shares little tidbits as it pleases him. He’s not above some shady business of his own, that’s for sure, but he wants to make sure he calls out anyone else’s.”

“Bit of a hypocrite?”

“For certain and an opportunist. He’d like to see himself as Minister someday, I imagine.”

“He was rather curious about what my father might be up to.”

“Yes, that’s concerning. And the direwolf.”

He’d told them all of it over the course of dinner, Bran and Rickon being caught up as they’d joined them. 

“I can’t let them hurt Ghost.”

“No, it sounds like he might be a potential link to seeing you past all this.”

“Yeah but it’s more than that. Ghost may well be part of me but well before I knew any of that I promised I’d keep him safe.”

“I know, Jon. We’ll find a way to sort all this out. I’ll keep my own ears open at the Ministry and when Robb’s here tomorrow we’ll clue him in on Baelish, too. Sansa can keep working on finding a cure for you. There’s bound to be some way to find out about that blood bonding spell, too, without risking too much.”

The innkeeper’s words from the Hogs Head had kept coming back to Jon. He would like to believe that somehow his bond with Ghost could be the very thing to see him rid of his uncle’s cursed wounds.

“That’d be nice but sometimes trial and error is the way of these things, isn’t it? If it were just me, I’d do it but with Ghost’s safety in question…”

“I have no intention of trying anything that may harm either of you,” another voice said from the doorway. He turned to find Sansa standing there with a small green vial in hand. She’d changed for bed since he’d seen her last, those plaid pajamas he’d seen her in a time or two now at Hogwarts. “However,” she continued as she entered the room fully, “like Rickon, sometimes a healer must risk some trial and error and do a little experimenting, too. Are you nearly done?”

“Just finished,” her father answered. “I’ll go see if Cat’s nearly done chewing off Rickon’s ear. It’s getting late and I’m ready to turn in.” He kissed Sansa on top of the head before clapping Jon on the shoulder and giving him a one-armed hug. “I’m glad you came tonight. We’re very sorry for what happened but we’re here for you always. Don’t forget it, alright?”

“Alright, Ned. Thanks.”

“Don’t be such a stranger in the future.”

“I won’t.”

He strode out of the room and Sansa moved closer, peering at him from beneath her lashes with her head tilted to one side. “How are you feeling?”

It wasn’t the question he’d expected but then she was always concerned about his well-being. “I’m fine.”

“You look tired.”

“Well, I am a little.” To be honest, he felt more than a little wrung out. Unloading all his burdens and struggles, his feelings of vulnerability and his wounded pride had taken it out of him. They’d all been amazing of course but he was still looking forward to bed. How did he explain that?

“It was a lot to share with everyone tonight.” Maybe he didn’t have to explain that to her. “Anyway, I’m glad you’ve got that part out of the way so we can enjoy the rest of our weekend.”

“Me, too.”

“Come with me?”

“‘Course.”

They took the back stairs leading from the kitchen to the second floor to avoid the others. They’d had their evening time together and he’d see them at breakfast. Down the long hallway, Sansa led him to his bedroom. It had always been his during his stays at Winterfell from his very first visit. 

He looked around as she closed the door behind them. He’d not been up here yet. Arya had carried up his satchel up after they’d arrived. It hadn’t changed. He’d last stayed with the Starks for a night six years ago when he’d been up this way with work. At the time, the nostalgia hadn’t hit so hard. 

On the wall, there was still a Gryffindor banner that he’d pinned up that first summer. There was a Quidditch poster hanging over the bed and one for the punk rock band Night King he’d been obsessed with when he’d been a teen on the closet door. 

He walked over to the bureau, his breath catching in his throat. The framed picture of his mother was still there. He peeked in the top drawer and, sure enough, the pair of red and gold socks he’d left behind at some point had not been removed. 

“Lots of memories in this room.”

“I feel the same about mine. You can never go home again…and yet you can.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it?”

“A very funny feeling,” Sansa replied, hugging herself. “I feel like a little girl sometimes when I come home but I’m not and I never will be that little girl again. I’m glad of it and yet I mourn her a little, too.”

“I never think of the little boy I was when I visit Targaryen Manor. I think I prefer to block out as much of that as I can. I only think of how soon I can leave again. But here…the memories are always waiting for me.” 

He picked up the picture of his mother. He had a few of her but not this one. She was probably eighteen or so in it and wearing a blue rain slicker. Her hair was wet and hanging limply but she was laughing, her grey eyes sparkling merrily. He’d been told that her friend, Howland Reed, who was also friends with Ned, had taken it which was how the Starks had come to have it. 

“I can’t believe your mum’s not cleared any of this away.”

“I think she likes to believe we’ll keep coming back.”

He felt a pang for Catelyn and Ned, proud to watch them all grow up but left here with the memories once they were gone. He felt a pang for his own mother who hadn't even seen him reach his 7th birthday. He traced the photograph of his mother’s face, trying to catch her smile with his finger. He wondered if she was already pregnant when the photo was taken. She’d been very young and his father had had his charms or so he’d been told. 

Sansa came to stand behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “She was beautiful.” 

“She was. I remember thinking she was beautiful when I was little. She would make silly faces to make me laugh and read me adventure stories at bedtime. I’d fall asleep with my fingers twined through her hair. Her eyes were kind.” He set the photograph back down. “I don’t remember much else.”

Sansa’s arms wrapped around his waist and she pressed her lips to the back of his neck. The particular intimacy of it sent a shudder of affection and longing through him. He clasped her hands in his, wanting her arms to stay right where they were.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s an old loss.”

“It’s still a loss. Robb said you were barely six when she died.”

“Yeah, I was.” 

A bittersweet yearning filled him these days when he remember Lyanna Snow, the mother he could barely recall. As a miserable child at his father’s house, he’d daydreamed about some miracle occurring, that he’d come home one day and learn it was all a mistake. She’d be there waiting to take him home with her. In time, he’d grown old enough to know better but he’d still dreamt of her. 

Memories of his mother to one side though, at the moment, he was also very aware of Sansa holding him this way in the bedroom of his home away from home. 

He glanced down at the small vial still clutched in her hand. “You mentioned trial and error?”

“Oh, yes.” 

Sansa hastily withdrew her arms from where they’d been wrapped around him. When he turned to face her, she had a hand pressed to her cheek. It was nearly scarlet. It was warm up here with the hot water flowing through the walls but he wondered if that was all there was to that blush. 

She smoothed her hands down her pajama pants as if they were sweaty before holding up the pale green vial. “Arya’s been in Japan as you know. She often brings me back various things that might aid my work or further my knowledge when she returns from her travels…books, old scrolls of wisdom, new potions to try or strange ingredients.”

“And this is something you want to try on me?”

She nodded and passed it to him. The liquid inside looked silvery but airy. It made him think of legilimency, of memories extracted like wispy glowing cobwebs from a person’s mind and poured out for others to view at their leisure. He frowned, remembering what Aemon had told him regarding his grandfather and his follower, Rossart. 

“What is that?” 

“It’s nothing bad, Jon. Arya dug it out of her bag when we were chatting. It’s supposedly a rare potion for scars. It’s not well known at all, impossible to find here in Britain, but I have heard of it. Anyway, Arya had picked it up purely by coincidence but after learning of your condition, she suggested we might try it.” He smiled to think that both Stark girls had been discussing him during their precious sister time. “Now, I’ll warn you that I don’t have much faith that it will cure scars like yours but at least we can say we tried…if you’re willing.”

He knew Sansa would only wish to help him and it was thoughtful of Arya to suggest it. And honestly, what did he have to lose? “Let’s give it a go, shall we?”

“Great…that’s great.” But she continued to stand perfectly still, with her hands twisted together as if she were nervous. He had a feeling not everything was great.

“Sansa?”

Her cheeks were still scarlet and she was toying with the hem of her pajamas now. 

“Sorry, it’s just that I was reading the instructions on the bottle…or trying to. They’re in Japanese and the script is difficult to make out. But it seems that it’ll have to be applied…directly to your wounds.”

“Makes sense.”

“So, you’ll need to undress.” Her blush deepened though he wouldn’t have thought it possible a moment ago. “I mean, you’ll need to remove the clothes covering your scars.”

“Alright.” He would be taking most of off his clothes for bed anyway. He wasn’t sure why this was troubling Sansa. 

“This potion is like an oil and the instructions seem very vehement about only using a drop or two per scar.”

“I won’t go crazy with it then.”

“But it says for maximum effectiveness that it should be applied by the witch or wizard who was administering the care…at least that was what I got from translating it. So, I would put it on your scars…if that's alright.”

_Your hands on me? Yeah, that's alright!_

Nevertheless, he felt a fluttering of nerves and suddenly understood why Sansa had had difficulty spitting this out. She’d treated him before though. This wasn’t so terribly different, was it?

He nodded slowly. “That’d be fine with me if you’re willing.” 

“I’d do anything to help you,” she whispered, making his belly swoop. “I’ll wait outside the door for you to get undressed. You can get under the covers and you can call for me when you’re ready.”

“Sure…okay.” 

She nipped out the door so fast he would’ve thought she’d apparated on the spot. 

She’d seen him down to his boxers a couple of times now but he supposed this might feel different to her outside of her hospital wing where he knew she felt comfortably in control of matters most of the time. Even at the room at the Three Broomsticks, where there’d been a little more awareness of the intimacy of their setting, she’d been managing things. Plus, he’d also been intoxicated. 

But, this was her parents’ house. They’d existed under this roof like siblings almost, just siblings that weren’t all that close. He’d also punched her boyfriend once upon a time here and there’d been a break in the tenuous bond between them at that point which neither of them had truly forgotten. 

_That was then and this is now,_ he reminded himself.

He removed his glasses and set them on the bureau and took off his jumper. He unbuckled his belt before pulling off his trousers. The dry pair of socks he’d claimed from his satchel before dinner came off next. Mrs. Stark had taken the others and his shoes off somewhere to be properly cleaned and dried and failed to return them yet what with dinner and Rickon’s mishap. 

He pulled his undershirt off last and climbed under the covers of the bed. He caught a whiff of the lavender Mrs. Stark used on her sheets. It was what she’s always used. It was comforting to his jangled nerves in a way but also a little guilty streak shot through him wondering what she’d think of what was going to happen under her roof.

_Nothing’s happening! Sansa’s just going to rub some oil on you._

_Yeah, she’s just going to rub some oil on me. No big deal, huh? Tell that to my… _

“I’m ready,” he called.

Sansa entered the room and his jangled nerves returned in full force. She was in her pajamas and he was down to his boxers and lying in bed. His mind was full of all manner of ideas that were not remotely platonic nor particularly gentlemanly.

“Comfortable?”

“Yeah.” 

She nodded nervously before perching on the edge of the bed and removing the stopper from the vial. In an instant, an exotic fragrance filled the air, bringing cinnamon, orchids and lotus blossoms to mind. 

But, no sooner than he’d assigned names to the scents, it changed. 

Now, he could smell Sansa’s light perfume, a sweet bergamot fragrance she wore, and the citrusy zing of her hair products. He thought of Ghost again and wondered if every day was this much of a feast for the olfactory senses for him. 

Sansa started rubbing her palms together to warm the oil and the fragrance seemed to grow stronger. It was nearly overwhelming. He felt dizzy but not in a bad way like when the scars opened up. He said nothing though. He didn't want her to know how affected he was. 

“It smells nice,” she hummed. “Like pine trees and butterbeer.”

“Pine trees and butterbeer?” he scowled. “That’s…that’s not what I smell.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, I smell…” _Your perfume and shampoo._ “I smell something else.”

“Really? Well, I would swear I smell something else underneath it. It’s like something…oh, I know! It’s Fleetwood’s High-Finish Handle Polish.”

“The polish for broomsticks?”

“Yes.”

“Is your nose clogged up?”

“No,” she laughed. “You don’t smell that either?”

“No but I used to use that to polish my broom all the time when I played Quidditch. Is that…did Dickon use Fleetwood’s on his broom?” Why did that matter so much to him?

“No, he used that wax stuff instead. It smelled bloody awful.”

“Oh.” 

He started chuckling, far too pleased by that. He was feeling rather pleased all around to be honest. The fragrance was making him feel warm and comfortable. It reminded him of being drunk but he wasn’t drunk. His spirits were feeling a little lighter than they had when he’d been looking at his mother’s picture though. 

But maybe he wasn’t completely comfortable. There was a hint of tension building, like a knot was forming in his belly as he watched Sansa’s hands continuing to glide together with the slick oil between her palms.

“I'll warn you that the instructions mention drowsiness.” She yawned no sooner than she said it. 

“Drowsiness for the patient or the healer?” 

His voice sounded huskier than normal and her eyes flashed in response. Or had he imagined that? 

There was a sleepy sensation creeping up on him but it wasn’t as strong as that coiling tension low in his belly. It almost made him think that if that tension were somehow eased though, he’d fall straight to sleep with a smile on his face. 

"I guess you'll need to reach my, uh..." He slowly pulled the covers downward to expose his scars.

He watched her face closely for her reaction. She’d seen them before but he always feared catching a hint of revulsion. There was none. He looked for pity, too. Also none. Sansa expelled a long breath, her eyes sweeping up and down his torso before returning to his face. She looked flustered but not like she found him repulsive or someone to be pitied. He hoped she wasn't second-guessing treating him. _Or putting your hands on me._

"Yeah, so you're, uh...I'll get started," she said, biting at her lip.

She lowered her hand slowly. He sucked in a deep breath, making his chest expand as if he couldn’t wait for her to touch him. Her fingertips brushed the scar below his right breast on his abdomen. He quietly gasped as soon as she made contact. 

"Too cold?" she asked.

"Nuh uh." The oil was cool but not too cool. It wasn't the temperature that got to him anyway. It was her, her touch was like a flame but not one that burned. “Go ahead,” he urged her.

She started rubbing it in and it felt good, surprisingly so. She was massaging the oil into the puckered flesh of his wounds with a firm but steady pressure and…fuck it felt a little too good. Her fingers slipped along the ridges and all he could think about was her hands gliding all over his chest, his abs, his arms and muscles and...lower. 

"Is this okay, Jon? I'm not hurting you?" she asked, looking uncertain. 

_“Mmmph.”_ It was the best he could manage at this point. He was biting his tongue to keep from singing and begging her to put the oil all over him. He nodded to be clear after that rather unclear 'mmmph.' 

“The flesh is warm and velvety despite the scars,” she murmured under her breath. She looked startled the next moment and he’d swear she was biting her own tongue. 

He sucked in another deep breath when her hand dipped lower to the scars on his belly, right above the waistband of his boxers. His stomach muscles were tensing up at her touch and in anticipation of something that wasn't happening. _Get a hold of yourself!_ If he wasn’t careful, he’d be getting hard. What was in that bottle?!

"Is drowsiness the only known side effect?" he croaked. 

"I think…maybe.” She shifted her hips as if she couldn’t get comfortable. “It was in Japanese so I can't say for certain." A crease appeared along her brow. “I'm sorry, Jon. I can’t tell that this is doing anything for your wounds at all. Shall I stop?” 

Her breath was a hitched as she spoke and she was leaning over his chest. God, her lips were awfully close. He shook his head. He didn’t want her to stop. She was also trying to heal him and he was busily indulging in dirty thoughts. 

“It’s okay, Sansa. I really appreciate you trying. Maybe we could try a little longer? I…it feels good anyway.” 

“It does?”

“Yeah…_really_ good.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” she sighed heavily. 

“Yeah, it’s…wait. Does it feel good to you?”

“I meant it’s…obviously, the oil is helping sooth your scars if nothing else!” she squeaked, self-consciously. 

“Sansa?” Did she feel that same tug low in her belly? Was she affected by the scent that seemed to have enveloped them? Did she like the way the oil slipped between her fingers and made her hand slide across his body? Was she…fuck, was she getting revved up, too?

“Hold still,” she purred, her eyes growing dark and hooded. “I’ve not got everywhere yet.”

“God,” he whimpered when her hand slid beneath the covers and she touched the scar on his thigh. 

"Am I being too rough?" Her voice suggested she knew the answer. There was a teasing lilt to it that he liked as well. 

“No,” he replied, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper. 

Her hand traced his scar beneath the covers and their eyes were locked. She was dangerously close to activating the ignition sequence. He needed to stop thinking about that. _Um…think of something other than how this feels! Hags? Ghouls? Trolls? Troll bogeys? Tormund's beef stew?_

It was no use. She continued massaging the oil into the seam of that scar and he was burning up. He wanted to hold her hand in place. Actually, he might want to move it up about six inches higher. 

It was wrong of him to indulge in those thoughts, _so_ wrong. He didn’t seem to be opening his mouth for her to stop. 

But at last, she must’ve realized. _Well, it’d be pretty impossible for her not to._ The hand that had been treating the scar on his thigh was traveling north again and she accidentally brushed the top of his boxers which were decidedly more tented than before. Her eyes widened.

He swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the ceiling and embarrassment flooding out of every pore. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t…don’t be…sorry,” she whispered, leaning over him.

She was edging closer with every second, so close he could count the small smattering of freckles on her nose, so close he watched her lick her lips and then mirrored the movement.

“THAT WAS THE WRONG VIAL!”

The door flew open with a WHAM! and they jumped apart like guilty teenagers busted by her parents. It wasn’t Mr. or Mrs. Stark though. 

“Arya! What are you doing barging in?!” Sansa gasped, plainly vexed.

Jon had to admit he felt like asking the same. _ I love you dearly but you have the absolute worst timing, Arya._

“That was the wrong vial! That was something I got for…bloody hell, did you open it?!”

“Yes, I opened it. Should I not have?” Sansa corked the vial again and quickly stood. Her cheeks were flushed. Her throat and what he could see of her chest was flushed, too. Her eyes were brighter than normal and her hands shook. She had been affected by whatever was in that vial, he was sure of it.

“It was the dark green vial that you were supposed to try. That one is…um, something I’d bought as a joke to give…someone.”

“Arya, what is it? Will it harm Jon?” Sansa asked, full of concern. 

For his own part, Jon was willing his stiffy to go away with all his might and grateful for the covers which were now up to his chin. 

“No, it’s just a…sensual massage aid that a witch gave me in…”

Jon’s lips twitched. “A sensual massage aid?”

“Fuck off.”

Sansa nodded numbly and handed the vial back to Arya. “Right. Well, it’s late and…maybe we’ll try with the right potion later, Jon.” Her hand was pressed to her scarlet cheeks again and those bright eyes looked watery.

“Sansa, are you alright?” Arya asked.

“I’m fine,” she said stiffly before hurrying from the room.

“What’s the matter with her?” 

He couldn’t answer Arya’s question. He was horribly confused and concerned himself at the moment. What was she thinking? Was she embarrassed or horrified by all this? Did she think it was only the potion that had affected him? Or was she not sure what to think or feel at all? 

He’d thought some time here this weekend might be a good opportunity to speak with Sansa about how he felt about her away from the school and its distractions but this house had its own distractions. He desperately needed a little time with Sansa without anyone else barging in on them. 

He told Arya he needed rest and she left his room muttering to herself. After breakfast tomorrow morning, before Robb arrived or Rickon set any more fires or Arya had anymore sensual massage aids to offer, he was going to find a way talk to Sansa…alone. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long overdue talk :)

Like nearly every meal he’d ever had under this roof, breakfast with the Starks was loud and chaotic the next morning but in the best way. As a student spending his holidays here, he’d been grateful to be welcomed at their table after the austerity of his father’s house but he hadn’t appreciated it as fully as he did now.

Catelyn’s sausages served with toast and jam were excellent as usual and he filled his plate before taking the seat next to Sansa, anxious to be near her after what had happened last night. She tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear and gave him a wane smile before turning her attention back to her food. He sipped his coffee and discretely watched her motions.

She wasn’t eating really. She was just pushing the food around her plate. She’d only had one bite of the toast with her mother’s delicious strawberry jam. She loved her mother’s jam. Again, he was left with the helpless feeling that she’d been hurt by the mix up of the potion (or sensual massage aid) and he had to wonder _how_ exactly she had been hurt. He was determined to find the answer and tell her some things as well.

Arya was sitting across from them, studying them both but he couldn’t let that put him off.

“Could I speak with you alone later?” he asked quietly in her ear.

“Of course, Jon.”

But she rose the next moment, nervously fiddling with her hair and saying her appetite was off this morning. She excused herself, heading back upstairs. Rickon took her place next to him, immediately shoveling down the sausages his sister had left behind. He wanted to follow her but he also didn’t want to be pushy if she wanted time to herself. She’d agreed to speak to him later and he’d hold on to that.

As it was Saturday, Ned was dressed for a day at home and mentioned some trouble with gnomes invading the winter crops.

“They’ve crept in from the south paddock and are threatening your mum’s onions and shallots. Can’t let them get too encamped or her mutton stew might suffer.”

The three youngest Starks quickly offered their de-gnoming services. The few times gnomes had made their unwelcome presence known on the Starks’ estate the children would make a competition of seeing who could capture the most gnomes and who could fling one the furthest. Robb had been in charge as eldest when they were younger and Jon was always his second in command. The memories were sweet ones despite the occasional bite from the sharp-toothed buggers. 

“When I was at the muggle library last week, the girl who works the counter was talking about buying garden gnomes,” Bran said. “I asked her who in their right mind would want to buy a gnome. She looked at me queerly so I did a little looking on their inter-telly thing. Turns out, the muggles make these little statues that look like Father Christmas and place them in their gardens.”

“Why?” Arya asked.

“Beats me.”

“But what do their gnomes do?”

“Nothing from what I can tell. They just stand there.”

“Bizarre.”

“I know, right?”

“What were you doing at the muggle library, Bran?”

“Just looking for a book of muggle mythology, Mum. I had questions regarding something I was translating.”

“That’s not why you were there.”

Bran's ears started turning red. “Shut up, Rickon.”

Rickon was not deterred. “Bran fancies that muggle girl who works there. He’d probably buy her one of those garden gnomes if he thought it'd get him a date.”

“Shut up, Rickon!”

Brotherly bickering commenced with Arya soon joining the fray and Mr. and Mrs. Stark left to referee with pleas for a peaceful breakfast. Jon, having finished his meal in the interim, was carrying his dish to the sink when he spied a flash of red hair through the window. Where was she going so early? 

He glanced around and, deciding everyone was preoccupied, slipped out the kitchen door to follow her.

* * *

He’d lost sight of her when she’d turned the corner and wrongly assumed she was headed to the sheep paddock or the barn. She did love the animals even if she wasn’t fond of the muck surrounding their quarters. 

In his rush to pursue her, he’d slipped outside without his pea coat. He was now regretting that choice. It was cold as bollocks this morning and he watched his breath wafting in front of his nose with every other step. At least, his shoes were mercifully dry again. They wouldn’t stay clean for long out here. _ Should’ve brought your wellies._

When he reached the paddock, he saw nothing but sheep and green pasture. Well, that and a couple of gnomes peeking out from their holes. They gave him what appeared to be rude gestures and there was no Sansa here. _You’re a cocky lot now but maybe I can still fling your arses the farthest of anyon_e. 

He was forced to backtrack across the extensive grounds with no clue where to look next. 

Just when he was ready to give up and seek her indoors again, he noticed that the door to the garage was cracked open. He didn’t know what would lead her in there on this frosty morning. Other than her father’s old Vauxhall Victor that he’d been tinkering with for ages to amuse himself, the space was mostly filled with gardening tools and cobwebs. 

Even if it was running, which it wasn't, no one but Ned in the family could drive it except Arya and that was simply due to the fact that once Mrs. Stark had dared to call automobiles ‘infernal muggle contraptions’ and declared that her children were not to bother with them. That was Arya for you, deny her anything and it became her heart’s desire. 

“Sansa?” he called into the darkened and musty space. He pushed his way inside despite the lack of response. 

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, it struck him that the last time he’d been in here had been about thirteen years ago, the night he’d found Joffrey and Sansa here. He’d caught the tail end of a kiss but it’d not been a sweet kiss and Jon had wound up throwing a punch before all was said and done. 

“Sansa?” he called again.

“Hello, Jon.” She cranked down the window of the Victor where she was sat in the driver’s seat.

He tilted his head to the side, taking in her uncertain smile and stiff posture. He’d swear she was blushing if he could see her clearly. 

“Lumos.” 

Light sprang from the tip of his wand before he placed it on the dashboard in front of her through the open window. He then walked around to the passenger’s side and climbed in. Her smile was less uncertain now and there was indeed a blush. 

He rubbed his chilly hands together. At least, they were out of the wind here. “Good to see you’re one step ahead of me as usual. They’re all arguing in there over the girl Bran likes so it seems quite right for us to shove off a little early to avoid being drug into the quarrel. Where’re we going?” He gave her his best conspiratorial wink. 

She laughed. Whether it was his attempt at humor or winking that made her do so, he was glad to hear her laughter. 

“I haven’t been to Paris lately,” she said lightheartedly. 

“Oh, Paris. Sounds lovely. Never been myself. Will you show me the sights?”

“Gladly.”

They started snickering before she lightly laid her hand upon his shoulder and sighed. 

“What is it, Sansa? Why are you out here this morning? It’s bloody cold and I’m afraid this old heap of metal couldn’t get us to the village, let alone the Arc de Triomphe.” Her eyes fell to her lap. He didn’t miss her grimace. “Is this about last night?” She gave a hesitant nod. “Are you upset with me over what happened?”

“Upset with you? Why would I be upset with you? It was me who…I didn’t mean to take advantage of you.”

“Take advantage of me?” Did she really think that? When he’d wanted nothing so much as her hands on him from the moment she’d led him up the stairs? 

“I told you I was going to treat you and then I had my hands…I swear the bottle said that the witch or wizard administering care should apply the oil but I suppose they may have meant ‘administering care’ differently than…”

“Sansa, I promise I didn’t feel taken advantage of one bit. I, uh…I liked your hands on me. I would’ve liked your hands on me no matter what the reason for it.”

“Because of the bloody massage aid!” she huffed. “Clearly, it had Amortentia in it. I should’ve realized when I smelled…I could strangle Arya!”

“Sansa, stop. You’re not strangling your sister. And, it probably did have some of the love potion in it but that’s not what matters.”

“Not what matters?! You were fooled! Manipulated into feeling things that weren’t real.”

“Weren’t real? Do you want to know what I smelled once you started rubbing that oil between your palms?” 

“What did you smell?” Her voice was so tenuous he wondered if she really wanted to know or not.

All the same, it was now or never. Do or die, she was going to know how he felt about her before they left this car. “Your perfume and your shampoo. Not just that. I smelled lemon gummy fish and elderflower wine. Things that remind me of you. I smelled you.”

She frowned and muttered, “It’s supposed to recreate scents that you find attractive. It did for me.”

“Yes but I smelled those things I associate with you because I _am_ attracted to you.”

For a moment, there was a spark in her eyes before she was back to shaking her head. “Just attraction though. Amortentia is very powerful, a dangerous potion since it manufactures obsession rather than true love.” 

“Attraction isn’t love but they aren’t mutually exclusive either, you know.”

She was still busy denying the possibility of his feelings being real. “No potion or spell can reproduce actual love.”

"But if the person was already in love with..."

"I knew I should've looked at that label more closely!"

“God, help us! Will you listen to what I’m trying to say, woman?!” Her mouth fell open and her eyes narrowed. 

_You’re trying to tell her you’re in love with her, not start a fight. _

_Well, she’s being bloody stubborn!_

“Sansa, it wasn’t just the massage aid last night that was affecting me. It wasn’t that at all.”

“Yes, I noticed that your, um…your body was responding.”

“To the beautiful woman who had her hands all over me, yes but here’s a little newsflash for you. I don’t need a massage aid for that to happen when I’m with you.”

“When you’re with me?”

“Yes, with you. But untimely erections to one side, I swear this isn’t about desire, not completely. It’s not some obsession or just attraction either. It’s that I…” He gulped and dug deep for the courage to spit it out at last. “It’s because I love you.” 

“But that’s…” Her chin trembled as her eyes welled with tears. “Do you really?” she said so quietly a moment later he wasn't even sure she'd really said it. It was the same question she'd asked when he'd told her that the night at the Three Broomsticks. 

"Yes, really. Why is that so hard to believe?" he asked, softly. 

"Because I..." She trailed off with a sob that broke his heart. But the next instant, she started smiling and his heart was mended quicker than one could say ‘Reparo.’ “Could you really be in love with me, Jon? After all this time?”

“Always,” he murmured, the word slipping from between his lips as easily as kiss my hand. Her eyes grew round with astonishment. “Wait, that’s not entirely accurate.” 

Her hopeful look evaporated. He was in danger of mucking this up. _Maybe you should be the one getting flung later. Oh, well. In for a penny, in for a pound. _

He leaned closer to her, daring to stroke her cheek and wipe away a teardrop or two. “What I mean is, I fell for you back when we were at Hogwarts together as students. I fell very hard for you but…I’m afraid I fell too late.”

She sighed heavily, her expression both bitter and sweet when she nodded. “Too late perhaps...and I fell too early.” He tucked her hand in his free one and continued stroking her soft cheek. “Pine trees, butterbeer and Fleetwood's polish. They're all smells I associate with you." Well, didn't that make his heart go rat-a-tat-tat? "I fancied you from that first day I saw you waiting for the Hogwarts Express.”

“That far back?”

She grinned self-consciously. “I was just a little girl. You were cute but looked lost and so unsure of yourself as you clutched your trunk." Her grin faded. "No one was with you.”

“My father had a servant escort me to the station. He told me how to get through the barrier and left.” He didn’t like remembering that part of the day. He’d always remembered meeting Robb…and the little redhaired girl with braided pigtails who’d smiled at him so sweetly on the platform. 

“What an arse.”

“I’d hoped my half-brother would be going there with me but his mother had insisted he go to Beauxbatons same as my half-sister. My father had told me to stop whining over it since Aegon and I barely got along anyway but it hit me that morning that I was really heading off on my own. I’d been sniffling since breakfast and Father had never cared for scenes.”

“What a _tremendous_ arse,” she amended with fire flashing in those blue eyes. 

"Thanks."

“But even not knowing those details, my heart melted for you that day.” She brushed her hair back from her face, reminding him somewhat of the girl she’d been. “I nursed my secret crush for a long time but I started to realize…one day, it became painfully clear to me that you didn’t see me that way.”

_And you decided not to love me anymore._ Oh, this was hurting more than he’d anticipated. “It’s funny that you say one day because one day it suddenly became clear to me that you saw me that way and it changed things for me.”

“When was that?” she asked quietly. 

“It took me a bit to get my head out of my arse but it began after that day…outside of Charms.” He grimaced, instinctively certain she’d know the day he meant.

“The day Ygritte told you that I had a crush on you.”

“You heard her.”

“She would’ve been hard not to hear. I was mortified.”

“I’m sorry.” God, so sorry. What wouldn’t he give to go back and handle that day differently? _You were barely more than children_, he reminded himself. “I’ll admit I’d never thought of it before then. You were a pretty girl, a sweet girl. I had always liked you but I only saw Robb’s little sister.”

“I know. That was the day I realized you didn’t feel the same at all. I mean, deep down I knew but I’d convinced myself that things would change, that someday you’d see me growing up and realize you felt differently than before.” _I did!_ “I’d held onto those hopes for so long…until that day.”

“Because of what Ygritte said and how I reacted?” he asked, his heart aching to think of her adolescent pain.

“Yes. Well, I hadn't realized you were dating her until that day." They were in Gryffindor and she was in Ravenclaw. She didn't play Quidditch and hadn't walked in on them snogging in Professor Rosby's empty classroom either. "That's why I asked you."

"Asked me what?"

"If you had a date to the Yule Ball. God, my face still gets hot just remembering how hard that was to do and how awful it felt when you didn’t answer me and she walked up.”

“You asked me if I had a date to the ball?!” She nodded and he closed his eyes, his own adolescent pain assailing him. He'd already asked Ygritte then, not knowing they'd be breaking up before long. But if he'd known that Sansa had asked that day, he would've at least answered her and done his best to not hurt her...no more than telling he had a date was going to hurt in the first place. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

"You never heard me." Her voice cracked and a small sob escaped. “Part of me wondered if you didn’t but then part of me was sure you did, the mean part of me that was always putting myself down at that age, the part that thought maybe I deserved a boy like Joffrey for being such a stupid little girl to believe you could ever…” 

“Sansa, please, don’t say that. I didn’t hear you but I wish I had because after that day, I started looking at you differently. You recall that Ygritte and I broke up soon after?"

"I did. I'm sorry for that awful fight you had outside the library."

"Thanks but I don't want sympathy. Though it was embarrassing, the pain is long past. We were too different and bound to clash in the end."

"I noticed you didn't go to the ball, not with Ygritte or any other girl, not even on your own."

"No, I decided sulking in my room was the mature thing to do." She stifled a giggle. "I heard you went though," he said as gently as he could. God, he hated thinking of Joffrey at all, especially knowing how he'd wound up treating her. 

"I wish I hadn't ever met him."

"I wish that, too. I'm sorry for the way he treated you. In the months that followed, everything was different for me when it came to you. Maybe I did become a little obsessed with you though no one had given me any Amortentia. I suppose that’s the way of our most intense and serious crushes. I pined something terrible. Bran’s mournful Irish poets would have applauded the depths of my despair even if I didn’t write any sonnets about it.” 

She tried and promptly failed to curb her laughter at that. He didn’t care. He was telling her. No matter what her feelings were now, at least she would finally know how he’d felt about her then and how he felt today. 

“After everything with Joffrey and the way we parted…I was sure it was never meant to be.” She grasped his hand, drawing his eyes down to them. “But since we’ve reunited and now that we’re grown up, I’ve discovered that those feelings are still there except they’re deeper, much deeper than before. And as we’ve grown closer the past few months, as I’ve come to know the wonderful, giving witch beside me, the woman who’s become my dearest friend, what might’ve been dismissed as attraction or a crush once upon a time cannot be denied now. I love you, Sansa. I suppose in a sense, I’ve been falling in love with you for quite a long while now.”

He lifted his eyes from their clasped hands to find her staring at him. His heart lurched, twisted up and in two upon itself as he waited with bated breath to hear what she had to say about that. 

She said nothing.

She leaned towards him and pressed her lips to his instead, a sweet kiss like he'd dreamt of so many times over the years. 

Tentative and soft at first, he kissed her back, a hand at her cheek, sliding into her silky locks. Her own fingers were soon tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck as the kiss deepened and grew rougher, more eager, with a hunger that had been kept in check for so long and was finally freed. He thought of Ghost, feeling somewhat wolfish as he slid his tongue in her mouth to taste her. He could laugh out of sheer relief while savoring the thrill of this moment. 

**BEEP!**

“Oh God! What was that?!” she yelped before they both dissolved into helpless laughter. Her elbow had hit the horn as she’d been shifting in her seat. 

“Infernal muggle contraption,” he muttered before pulling her into his arms for more kisses. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Jon and Sansa will return to the house for a little more Stark interactions and Robb & Co. will arrive for a visit before something unexpected sends them back to Hogwarts sooner than planned.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

The old Victor’s windows had been thoroughly fogged up before they’d finally left it with kiss-swollen lips and grins that could not be contained to return to the house after the biting cold had trumped their ardor at last. He thought it rather amusing that they'd made out for the first time in a car like a couple of muggle teenagers but then again he had to admit it had its advantages seeing that they'd not been interrupted for once. 

_It would have been rather awkward if Ned had walked in on us,_ he thought, blushing at the thought despite his age. 

Mercifully, Ned was out in the paddock with the younger Starks who were busy flinging gnomes but Mrs. Stark was in the kitchen and she called out to them before they’d managed to slip upstairs unnoticed.

“Sansa, do you mind giving me a hand with my herbs?”

“Of course not, Mum.” But she gave him a resigned look, whispering that her mother had already been asking questions about them.

“You think I’d mind her knowing? I wouldn’t. I’ll see you soon,” he said, giving her a discreet kiss on the cheek. He headed to his room to grab his coat, deciding to help with the degnoming as he accepted that he would not be relishing any more kisses at present. 

“Jon!” Rickon shouted the instant he spied him. “See if you can’t beat Dad’s record! Reckon he must've tossed that last one past the furthest sheep there.”

“Oh, I doubt I'll top that,” he said humbly though he was more than ready to accept a challenge. 

The rest of the morning hours passed pleasantly, even if his arm was a bit sore and he was left somewhat dizzy from spinning around with his tosses, including one that just edge past Ned's furthest. 

The five of them enjoyed the competition of the exercise, if not the occasional bites they received, but Jon knew he enjoyed the laughter shared among them the most. How he'd missed them all and being at this house. He couldn't go back in time and be a teenager again nor did he much want to but this was a very fine day. Naturally, the way things had gone with Sansa earlier had brightened his entire outlook.

Despite the teasing he received, Bran admitted that he was going to ask that muggle girl out when he went to the library next...and buy her a garden gnome while he was at it.

Just as Catelyn’s voice, magically amplified to carry, called them in for luncheon, Jon saw Robb and his family approaching.

“Figures you’d appear right as the work was nearly done,” he jokingly called to his friend. Robb did not answer but Jon was focusing on Brandon and Benjen, five and three respectively, racing towards him and leaving their parents in their wake. He’d not seen them in months now and his heart gave a flip. “What are you feeding these boys? They’re huge!”

“Uncle Jon!” the little ones cried, delighted as he scooped them up for a hug, kissing their rosy cheeks, tossing them high in the air by turns and laughing at their shrieks of childish joy. 

Soon enough, they were racing off again to greet their grandfather, uncles and aunt. They wanted to view the troublesome gnomes and learn all about the grand game they'd nearly missed. 

And, Jon was left with a curious pang watching them go. Yes, he had envied Robb his settled life upon occasion over the past few years but had never thought much of being a father personally. He'd considered himself content enough and figured that it was not meant for him. But now? Could there be a chance that someday he could... 

_Not while I am like this_. How could he risk it? But if Sansa wanted that...wanted children...

The pang grew within him and turned into an undeniable ache and Jon realized that it was something he very much wanted someday...with her. _But, it would better if I was at least moderately confident I won't be dropping dead any old day of the week. _

_And what if you are cured? Will you continue on at Hogwarts? Or do you still want to return to being an Auror? _It wasn't exactly a very settled life for a family man. 

_There is time to talk through all this,_ he told himself, hoping to lay care to rest for a little while. 

“Hello, Jon. It’s so good to see you,” Jeyne said when she reached him and they embraced. 

He smelled rosewater and nutmeg as he held her and thought of Ghost again. His sense of smell was certainly keener than it had ever been. Did that mean their connection or bond was growing stronger?

“It’s good to see you, too,” he replied while she was cupping his cheek with a gloved hand, giving him a motherly look of concern. “Now, don’t worry so, Jeyne. I’m sure Robb has told you that Sansa is doing everything in her power to help me.”

“It’s not that. Well, it is partly but…” Jeyne’s dark brown eyes darted towards her husband.

For the first time, Jon really looked at his friend since they'd arrived. His expression was stern, perhaps a little angry. “What is it?”

“You seen the _Prophet_ today?”

“No, why?”

Robb grimaced. “Dad’s gotten to where he don’t like looking at it when he’s home.”

“Can't say I blame him. Usually a load of rubbish gossip more than anything these days, isn't it?" he asked as a warning prickle chased along his spine to his scalp. Robb and Jeyne exchanged a look. He couldn’t think of anything in the _Daily Prophet_ that would be upsetting Robb so on a Saturday. All his thoughts were centered on Sansa and her concerns when he tried to think of what it might be. “Is there something about Dickon in it?”

“No, not him.” Robb pulled a folded up copy out from his coat pocket. “Rubbish is about right and I reckon this issue's not fit for much more than wiping one’s…”

“Robb!”

“The kids aren’t near, Jeyne.”

Jon ignored their bickering and unfolded the paper, trying to ignore his suddenly unsteady hands and wishing he had his glasses handy. 

It wasn't the headline but right there on the front page was a picture of him. He was looking exceedingly disheveled and cross in it and he recalled the occasion. His first collaboration with Val in New York City had turned into a bit of a disaster. They'd been set to capture the monstrous dark wizard the Weeper who'd fled to America from Plymouth. Their duel with him had been a destructive one...in the middle of Times Square. There'd been a lot of muggle memories modified that day. Both Val and him had wound up questioned by an inquisitive reporter from _The New York Ghost_ who had snapped the photograph and wrote a scathing article about the British Auror who'd caused all the mayhem. 

It had been the first time Jon had been on the receiving end of bad press. 

And apparently, he was due to experience it again. 

Beneath his rather unflattering and furious looking image was a headline that filled him with sick dread:

_ **DARK WIZARD'S GRANDSON TEACHING OUR CHILDREN AT HOGWARTS??**_

"Bloody fucking hell!" 

Jeyne gasped at his language and he looked up, an abashed expression on his face. Gratefully, the boys were out of earshot. 

"It's rubbish," Robb repeated. 

"Bloody fucking hell," he muttered under his breath this time. He raked a hand through his hair as his feet were already turning him towards the house to seek Sansa. 

* * *

Jon closed his eyes as Bran read aloud to the family, all save Rickon who had taken his nephews upstairs to the third floor to play and explore...and hopefully not set things on fire. He'd already read it and didn't particularly want to hear it again but understood the others' interest. His one comfort was Sansa tucked up against him on the settee like last night, her head resting on his shoulder while he held her hand. If anyone thought their intimacy odd, no one said a word. 

_ **"Dismissed from the Aurors, the Dark Wizard hunters for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, in May after a mysterious encounter with his uncle, Viserys Targaryen, who looked to take up the mantle of his father's Reign of Terror, ended in the death of the confirmed Death Eater, Jon Snow was hired on this past summer to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Britain's prestigious school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. ** _

_ **"One can't help but wonder at the headmaster's choice to hire him when no one seems to know why Snow was dismissed. Ministry insider Lancel Lannister expressed concern when questioned over Snow's dismissal. 'To this day, I don't know if he quit or was sacked or why.'"** _

"That's because ruddy Lancel doesn't know his arse from his ears and doesn't even work in the same department," Robb growled.

Bran continued, 

_**"His superior with the Aurors' Office, Jeor Mormont, a taciturn man known to play favorites, spoke of Snow's dedication to the job but rudely refused to answer as to the circumstances surrounding Snow's dismissal. ** _

There had been a small photography of Jeor, looking every bit as gruff as the man always looked first thing in the morning.

_ **"Certainly, an Auror would know a thing or two about fighting against the Dark Arts but one has to wonder, dear readers, if Jon Snow is the right man for the job. Is Snow actually committed to teaching our youth how to defend themselves against the Dark Wizards resembling the ones who fill his family tree? Or could there possibly be other nefarious forces at work, using an opening at the school as a way in while seeking to recruit a new generation of Death Eaters?"**_

"Give me that!" Arya cried, yanking the paper from Bran's hands. "I'll use it to line the bottom of Nymeria's cage when I go home." Jon nodded at her solution. He'd much rather the paper catch owl droppings and never be seen again. 

"That's hardly the only copy," Bran pointed out which had Jon grimacing again. 

“It doesn’t matter! He’s not anything like them! And it’s not like that side of Jon’s family’s a secret or anything!”

“You’re right, Arya,” Ned said solemnly, attempting to calm his daughter’s wrath. “Jon is not his grandfather nor his uncle and his paternity was known at the Ministry when he was hired just as it was known the day he climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express the first time _but_…”

He let that 'but' linger so Jon finished the thought for him in a low voice. “It’s not exactly common knowledge either and there are parents who will care.” 

"Anyone who'd believe this is stupid," Bran said, showing his support now that he was finished reading.

"But Jon's right, Bran. When it comes to their children and their perceived safety, some parents might be swayed by it even if it's madness," Catelyn said, sadly. "Either way, it changes nothing for us and we're behind you."

"Right, you are, Cat."

Jon looked around the sitting room at the assorted Starks staring back at him, deeply touched by their support. Sansa was still holding his hand and that was a comfort all its own. 

"What will you do?" Jeyne asked at last. 

“I don't know. My half-siblings have elected to live their lives outside of Britain because of the stigma attached to the family name but being a Snow, I've never been noticed as much." He smiled wryly to himself. "I suppose there's one benefit to being a bastard after all. But with this...I wouldn’t be surprised to learn the headmaster’s already receiving owls asking for my termination.”

“It won’t matter. He'd never do that. He hired you. He knows you. And, he won’t dismiss you over some slanderous tripe in the _Prophet_ or any letters he might receive,” Sansa said with a fierceness that matched her sister’s. It warmed his heart even as his guts were churning over this development. “Do you know the reporter who wrote this, Dad?”

“Yes, Corbray. I’ve seen him around the Ministry some. He’s usually found loitering around Baelish’s department.”

“Well, there you go,” Robb said. “Petyr Baelish again and this fellow was probably encouraged to write this sensationalized article to stir trouble for Jon.”

“But why? I barely know Petyr Baelish. Outside of running into him in Hogsmeade, I wouldn’t have thought he’d given me any thought at all once I left the Ministry.”

“Yes but you are Rhaegar’s son. There are many in the Ministry curious about what your father is up to and if he’s any threat. Your aunt Daenerys’ name has come up as well.”

“She’s not even in the country. Last I heard, she was still in Romania. I don't know what she's up to or my father. I don’t care to know either.”

“I know, Jon, but at some point…you may not have any choice in the matter.”

Jon mulled over Ned’s words in silence as the others started discussing the matter again, an uneasiness settling over him that had little to do with his worries about what that article might mean for his career at Hogwarts. What had Aemon said last time they’d spoken? _“I wanted to speak about your father.”_ What had the old ghost wanted to say or tell him? What he’d been ready to dismiss at the time in his eagerness to return to the letter a quarantined Sansa had sent him seemed much more important all of a sudden. 

Catelyn rose from her place beside Ned, suggesting they call Rickon and the little ones down again. “No use letting Sneaky Petyr ruin our luncheon, right?”

Ned chuckled and agreed.

“Sneaky Petyr, Mum?” Bran asked.

“Yes, that was his nickname at Hogwarts and I’m certain it still applies. He was forever sticking his nose into things that weren’t his business but he was such a bootlicker that very few of the professors ever attempted to correct him for it.”

“He fancied you back in school, didn’t he, Mum?” Arya asked.

Ned's chuckles ended abruptly as Catelyn nervously twisted her hands together. “I can’t deny it. We had known each other before Hogwarts and he’d been my playmate then though he’s a couple of years younger. He was like my shadow when he arrived at Hogwarts until…well, one day he stepped out of the shadows.” The light left Catelyn’s eyes and she stopped speaking. Jon could feel Sansa stiffen where she sat beside him. What had he missed? 

“Come along, you lot,” Ned said gruffly, clearly wishing to move past the subject. "Robb, go fetch your boys and your brother. Let's eat."

* * *

“I’m three. Too big for naps,” Benjen pouted at his aunt…right before he yawned. 

“Of course, you are. We’re just snuggling. I’ve missed your snuggles. Plus, you’re warming me up.”

“I am?”

“Oh, yes. I’m still chilled from being outside this morning,” Sansa said, continuing to rub the little boy’s back. She started humming softly once more. Jon didn’t know about Benjen but he could feel his own eyes growing heavy where the three of them sat together on Robb’s old bed. 

The little head rose from his aunt’s shoulder. “I didn’t see you outside.”

“I was out early…with Jon.” Their eyes met and her cheeks pinkened. He smiled at her and reached out to stroke Benjen’s soft, wispy curls until he laid his head on Sansa's shoulder again. 

“I’m not sleepy,” the boy protested weakly a few minutes later as his eyes were shutting. 

“Of course not,” his aunt said in a gentle, low voice that was soothing. “Your day has been far too exciting for you to be sleepy at all. Jon is tired though from flinging all those gnomes earlier and I think he needs a rest, don’t you?”

“Do you need a rest, Uncle Jon?”

Jon closed his eyes and pretended to snore where he sat beside them. The boy started giggling and took Jon’s larger hand in his plump and presently sticky small one. Sansa started humming again and soon the boy was asleep. They carefully tucked him and crept into the hallway.

“You’re good at that.”

“I’ve had some practice. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

“I’ve had very little practice but I’ve watched Robb and Jeyne with them and Sam and Gilly with…their son.” The mere mention of Sam and Gilly’s names gave him pause. It was silly, he knew. In time, he would be able to mention his friend’s name without immediately thinking of his younger brother and his past relationship with Sansa. 

“I’ve not seen Little Sam in a long while now. I’m not sure he’d remember me anymore.” 

“Do you ever think of having children?”

“I do. Do you?”

He gazed into those blue eyes like summer skies and brushed his hand across her cheek. “With the right woman, I could see myself wanting them but I haven’t thought on it seriously until recently.” 

“How recently?” she asked, curiously. 

“This morning.”

She swatted his arm. “Be serious.”

“I am.” Her eyes widened. “Obviously, not today or anything.” She started giggling. “Maybe we’ll give it six months or so?”

“Jon…” she laughed.

“Sorry, eight months.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“No, I’m in love with you.” He wished the shadow wouldn't dim his mood now. “But…”

“But what?”

“I worry about being whole for you and…whole for anyone else.”

“You’re whole, Jon.” Her words were reassuring even if he still felt too fractured from May to fully believe them. 

Faintly, they could hear Rickon and Arya bickering below, drawing them both back to where they were today. 

“Shall we go back down with the others? Or would you want…” Her eyes flashed and she tilted her chin the opposite direction, down the hall towards the other bedrooms. 

“Were you wanting to snog some more, Madam Stark?” he asked, playfully.

She shook her head and then just as quickly she was nodding and biting at her bottom lip. It’d been far too many hours since Jon had kissed her. 

“If you wouldn't mind me keeping you away from the others for a little longer.”

“Mind? Are you mad? You think I’d waste a golden opportunity to be alone with you when we’re not freezing our arses off here?” he said while tugging her towards his bedroom which was nearer Robb’s than hers.

_Though it may be damned hard to conceal what we’ve been doing up here after laying your nephew down for his nap. _

Her mother knew, knew that they were moving past friendship. Sansa said she’d admitted as much after Catelyn and dropped a hint or two while the two of them had been busy with her herbs.

"I couldn't help telling her how I feel about you."

“And how’s that?” he asked when she was stretched out next to him on the bed. They were fully dressed and on top of the blanket, their lips meeting for chaste pecks and teasing grazes with their hands twined together between them, no more.

“That I’m in love with you.”

He flattened her palm against his chest. “Do you feel that?”

“Your sticky hand, you mean?” she teased.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist loading my scones with jam earlier.”

“Benjen does love Mum’s strawberry jam.”

“Who could blame him? But I meant my heart and how it beats so hard when you say that.”

“It’s just beating as it should be, isn't it?” She was enjoying this. He was, too.

“Oh no. It’s thumping away for you.” The mischievous twinkle in her eyes turned softer. “I love you, Sansa.” 

“Lucky me,” she sighed. "Because I love you, too."

“No, love. Lucky me.” 

He freed one hand to card it through her silky hair, slipping it ‘round to the back of her head and drawing her towards him for a deeper kiss. Like earlier in the garage, he rather lost track of everything when he was busy kissing Sansa. She leaned back onto his pillow and he chased her, rolling half on top, their bodies pressed together as the kissing went on and on. To Jon's way of thinking, they had missed years they could've been kissing in a sense. _May as well make up for it a bit. _

“Are you alright after that article and everything earlier?” she asked a little later as they were snuggled close, catching their breath.

“I’m angry over it. Worried some, too. But mostly, I don’t understand what they hope to do other than drive me from my post. And if they succeeded, who would really care?”

"I would care."

"I know."

"Plenty of people at the school would, Jon."

_Perhaps so. _ "You know what I mean."

"Maybe they think your father would care."

"Him?" he chuckled without mirth. "I doubt that very much."

“Well, no one’s driving you from your post. The headmaster…”

“You’re right. I wasn’t showing him the proper faith earlier. I know better. We’ll see what it’s like when we return tomorrow but until then, I’m resolved not to waste my time here worrying fruitlessly.”

“Good.”

He would worry of course. He wondered if he’d be met with looks of fear or suspicion from his students or even some of the staff. He hoped not. _But Sansa will be by your side_. He thought he could face anything so long as that was the case.

Speaking of suspicions and the article though…

“What did your mother mean about Baelish stepping out of the shadows back in school?” 

“Oh, that. It’s all old news now but when Mum was a Fourth Year, she was actually dating my dad’s older brother.”

“The one who was an Auror?”

“Yes, my Uncle Brandon.” Sansa sat up, hugging her knees so Jon sat up, too. Old news or not, he could tell she was troubled by this. “Mr. Baelish would’ve been a Second Year and my uncle a Seventh Year. He’d had a crush on Mum for so long although my Aunt Lysa fancied him. Anyway, one day he saw Mum kissing my uncle and he went into a jealous rage.”

“Did he hex your uncle or something?”

“He tried to. He was not as quick with his wand as my uncle though.”

“What happened?”

“He tried…he tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on my uncle.”

“What?! But that’s…he could’ve been sent to Azkaban for that!”

“He was only twelve and his magic was no match for my uncle’s. Also, Uncle Brandon had a temper. He retaliated rather brutally. They say he nearly killed Petyr Baelish though the headmaster was soon there to heal him.”

“God.”

“Yes. It was very upsetting to my mother. My uncle might’ve been expelled but he was already so near finishing that they quietly let him stay on. Sneaky Petyr, as he was labeled after that day, snuck back into his shadows but not before he'd whined to nearly everyone about how Brandon Stark was mad as a hatter and had nearly killed him. My mother and uncle broke up that summer. He went on to be an Auror though they nearly didn't take him because of the incident at Hogwarts. Anyway, Mum and Dad started dating during their Seventh Year. They’d spent time together in mourning after my uncle had been killed in the line of duty.”

“By my grandfather’s followers.”

“Yes, it was very tragic. But my parents grew close and fell in love. I didn’t know all this the first few times I met Mr. Baelish but, after I told Mum about meeting him and how he’d spoken of her and been rather flirtatious with me, she told me the story and warned me to be careful around him.”

“Good for her. And now, I have another reason to thoroughly detest the man.”

“I suppose I’m soft-hearted. I felt sorry for him in a way with him being so besotted and younger.”

“Besotted isn't love and it's no excuse to try what he did.”

“You’re right. His behavior was contemptible. He’s certainly one to watch out for.”

“Yes.” _Sneaky Petyr, indeed._

* * *

Dinner was over and Robb and his family had left a short while ago to return home to their home for the night. Jon and Sansa would be returning to Hogwarts after breakfast the next day. Jon couldn't help wondering what the change in their relationship might mean for them when they returned. He looked forward to finding out. 

_First, we've got another night here._

They’d only admitted their feelings for one another just this morning. There would be time for all the rest. He could behave here under her parents' roof. 

_But if she doesn’t want to behave…_

He wondered what Arya had done with that massage aid of hers. 

Meanwhile, they were going to pass the next couple of hours with the family. Jon couldn’t complain about that. 

Mrs. Stark tuned into the Wizarding Wireless Network for the Celestina Warbeck marathon. Rickon was playing with Shaggy, the Stark’s old sheepdog, by the fire. Mr. Stark was reading a book. And, Jon and Arya were readying for a round of Rune Riddles with Bran and Sansa.

“Two Ravenclaws versus two Gryffindors in a game of wits and logic? This’ll be a piece of cake.”

“Excuse you?” Jon huffed.

“Don’t be rude, Bran.”

“I’m sorry, Sansa," Bran said, bowing his head...just before a wry grin appeared. "But they really don’t stand a chance.”

“You’re awfully cocky for a man getting ready to waste his gold on a little statue of Father Christmas, Stark.”

“Care to place a wager on the outcome then, Snow?”

“For what? The price of a garden gnome? Done.”

“Boys…” Sansa groaned, looking to her sister for support.

Arya, however, was more ruthless in her wagers than they were. “If you win, we’ll concede that Ravenclaws truly are the cleverest of the bunch and buy you five garden gnomes…”

“Alright then,” Bran said, rubbing his hands together.

“But if we win…you can only ask your librarian out while Rickon’s there to watch and tell us all about it.”

“What?! You’re mad if you think I’m…”

“You don’t sound so confident that you’ll beat us dense Gryffindors now,” Arya smirked. 

“I’m…we’re…” He looked to Sansa.

“Don't look at me. You started this and I never asked to play this game.”

"But you'll play, right, Sans?" Arya asked.

"Of course, I will...and I'll trounce you all."

Arya started cackling delightedly while Bran was saved from committing himself one way or the other by his mother. 

“Oh, Ned! Do you remember when we danced to this one at our wedding?” she asked excitedly.

“Yes, love,” Mr. Stark said, embarrassment and tenderness both visible upon his face. 

Mrs. Stark started twirling in her little corner of the sitting room. 

“Go on and dance with Mum, Dad,” Sansa said with a dreamy look upon her face.

“Yeah, Dad! Dance with Mum. And just so you don’t feel too funny about it, Jon will dance with Sansa,” Arya added with a smug look his way.

“I…” His face was getting hot and Sansa’s was nearing the color of her hair when he tugged at the collar of his jumper and glanced her way. “You’re supposed to be on my team,” he grumbled to Arya under his breath.

“I am, you dolt. My sister loves to dance. Don’t you want to dance with her?”

“Well, I…” He cleared his throat and stood, offering his hand…and ignoring Bran and Rickon’s snickers. “Would you like to dance, Sansa?”

She smiled and nodded, blushing all the way to the roots of her hair now but plainly happy. 

_“You charmed the heart right out of me_

_Don't need no broom, I'm flying free  
_

_I think by now it's plain to see  
_

_I'm nothing without you  
  
_

_Your every wish is my command  
_

_My fragile heart is in your hand  
_

_And now, at last, I understand  
_

_The magic about you!”_

  
He heard Ned stand, quietly asking his wife if she’d like to dance while Rickon, Arya and Bran quickly started shoving furniture out of the way for the two couples. He supposed there were far more mortifying ways to spend a Saturday evening than showing off his lack of dance skills to those he loved. And Sansa in his arms sounded far better than any old round of Rune Riddles. 

But just as Jon had placed his hands on Sansa’s waist and pulled her closer, the Starks and their sitting room faded from view…

~~~~~~

_Fear._

_Something is in the woods tonight…something besides the hoofed and horned beasts who do not like him…something other than the fearsome creatures with too many eyes and legs._

_He bares his fangs and crouches, readying to fight or flee._

_Whatever comes his way is clumsy and loud._

_Men._

_Only men could be so noisy, so blind, deaf and dumb here and yet so dangerous._

_Strangers._

_They are not his friend._

Jon, _a voice whispers._

Ghost,_ another answers._

_It is not Jon. It isn’t his mate or the big man either. Those are the only three humans he really knows and trusts._

_He waits. Waiting is hard but every predator must learn patience. He can smell their fear as they draw near._

_“Stay close, Lothor. I saw the beast with my own eyes. It’s no dog, that’s for certain.”_

_“Beg pardon, Mr. Baelish, but if it’s what you think it is, aren’t we mad to be comin’ here a’huntin’ it?”_

_“Direwolves have been outlawed in Britain for nearly a century. If Snow’s got one, it’ll be all I need to have him brought in for questioning. Then, Rhaegar will…”_

_“But, sir…”_

_“Oh, do stop your whining and let’s capture the beast!”_

_They will not capture him. Even with those sticks of theirs, they will not. He springs from his crouched position, ready to tear out their throats._

_The larger man squawks like a frightened hen at the sight of him and drops his stick. But the smaller one takes aim. Light comes from his stick with a word and there’s pain. He growls, a savage sound and blindly snaps at them. He sinks his teeth into flesh. There's a scream and his tongue tastes the coppery tang of blood. _

_But then, there's pain again. Terrible pain and he’s weaker than he’s ever been. He whimpers and tries to retreat but his body won't cooperate. Even in those foggy days when he’d been a pup locked in a cage with the cruel master, he'd not know this sort of fear and misery. He’s helpless and…_

_~~~~~~_

Jon’s eyes opened and the forest was gone. The scent of the trees lingered in his nostrils and he could still feel the burning agony even as he attempted to sit up. When had he fallen to the floor?

"Jon! Jon!"

Sansa was hovering over him, wand in hand and trying to tug his jumper over his head, muttering a healing spell nonstop.

"Sansa," he said though it came out sluggish. He was still weak and feeling disoriented from whatever had happened to him in the forest..._while I was in Ghost. _

“It's alright, it's alright. You'll be alright, I promise." She was nearly sobbing.

"I'm alright, love. Sansa, I've got to..."

He tried to get up. "Don't move! Are you bleeding?! Arya, fetch me the dittany! Dad, help me!” He saw the others springing into action, snapped out of their temporary trance.

"Wait, I’m not bleeding.” She needed to understand it wasn't him who needed help. But, she did not listen, still desperate to save him. _Because she loves you._ He grasped her hands to still her frantic motions. “Sansa, I’m not in danger…but Ghost is."

"Ghost? You were with Ghost?"

"Yes...and we’ve got to get back to Hogwarts at once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things look bad but I promise I'm not killing any direwolves in this fic.
> 
> Lyrics from 'You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me' by Celestina Warbeck (J.K. Rowling)
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	12. Chapter 12

A headlong flight from the Starks’ house to the edge of their property as Ned and Arya followed with advice and offers of aid. He barely heard them. He wished he had his broom. 

He snapped at her to go faster. "I'm trying, Jon!" 

She was. She couldn't help that she wasn't as fast a runner.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered but feared it was carried away on the wind.

_I’m sorry, Ghost._ What was happening to him? Could they get there in time? A shuddering breath escaped as he waited half a beat for Sansa to join him. He'd promised him, hadn't he? He'd promised that frightened little pup that he'd protect him, that no one would hurt him anymore. 

Swallowing his emotions, he grasped her hand the second she was clear of Winterfell’s protective barriers. "Ready? One, two, three..."

_Hogsmeade Village_, he thought. A faint pop as the squeezing sensation ended and Jon opened his eyes to see the high street of the village before them.

“Get to Tormund’s! Tell him what’s happening!” he yelled over his shoulder, feet already eating up the distance between them and the castle. To the forest, to Ghost.

“Jon, wait! How’re you planning to get in? And you shouldn’t go dashing off alone!”

Goddammit, she was right. That had been his mistake back in May, running off ahead of the others, headstrong and so sure of himself that he’d wound up facing Viserys and his followers alone. _And look what it cost you_.

He stopped running, his breath coming in quick pants. Emotion would cloud his judgment. “Sansa, we’ve got to…they're hurting him.”

“I know but we are not alone here, Jon.” She held out her wand meaningfully.

“Yes…yes.”

He quickly kissed her cheek before pulling out his own wand, sending a message in the shape of a ghostly wolf racing off to Tormund’s while Sansa sent her own in the direction of the castle.

Their call for aid sent, he grasped her hand and they hurried along the road from Hogsmeade to the entrance gate. As soon as they were within sight of it, the massive iron gate swung open, welcoming them home. Jon highly suspected that was thanks to Sansa's message informing someone in the castle of their unexpectedly early return.

They headed in the direction of the forest. Tormund was waiting for them.

“That Baelish is after Ghost, you say?”

Jon nodded, trying to decide his course. Sansa was a talented witch but he doubted she’d done much dueling and he was already mad with worry over Ghost. He couldn’t stand the thought of her in harm’s way.

Thanks to his parentage, Tormund had been raised in an isolated community and never received much formal education. An unhappy incident during his Third Year had ended his magical education. He had no true wand to speak of. It was his unparalleled skill with magical creatures which had earned him his position here.

He could send for Oberyn who was well known for his prowess in a duel and, of course, the headmaster was a phenomenal dueler despite his age.

“It may be best if…”

“Whatever you’re thinking, you can stop thinking it, boy. That’s my forest as much as anyone's so I’ll be coming with you,” Tormund said.

He crossed his beefy arms over his massive chest and stood defiantly between Jon and the forest. Sansa with her far smaller frame duplicated Tormund’s stance and was giving him the same look. It was really damned adorable to be honest.

“Right. Guess I won’t waste my breath arguing with a couple of stubborn gingers,” he said, skirting around them both. “Sansa, stay close to me.”

It was dark and cold out. Their coats had been forgotten back in Scotland but there was no time to tarry.

He tried to recall what he’d seen when he’d been in Ghost earlier and where they might be. He closed his eyes and concentrated, his companions waiting patiently as he let instinct guide him.

“This way.”

The beech and oak grew thick as they stumbled along the path in semi-darkness. Time seemed different in the forest. 

“Lumos,” Sansa whispered when the pressing dark got to be too much. It was just as well. He could barely make his way like this. 

The path wound deeper into the woods. How long had they been in here? Where was Ghost? Had he really kissed Sansa for the first time this morning? It seemed like ages ago. He wished he was still swaying with her in his arms to the crooning of Celestina Warbeck back at Winterfell. 

He looked back over his shoulder to find her right on his heels. In the glow of the wand’s tip, he caught the fleeting smile she gave him and took her hand again. “Stay close,” he murmured.

"You said that already."

"Well, I feel better knowing you're close."

“Are you frightened, my brave Gryffindor?” she asked, teasingly.

“Not when I’m with you, my clever Ravenclaw.”

“Hold fast,” Tormund rumbled in warning. Pulse suddenly pounding once more, Jon and Sansa instantly raised their wands. “No, no. Lower them, you fools.”

They did and their night vision asserted itself enough to reveal a large centaur standing proudly among the patch of yew trees right in front of them. Jon’s eyes picked out another of his kind in the undergrowth…and another. A small herd of them. They didn't need any trouble. 

“We’re not here to cause no ruckus,” Tormund told the centaur. “A friend of ours needs help. There’s strangers in the forest tonight who mean the creature harm.”

Silently, the centaur pointed deeper into the forest with a nod.

They murmured their thanks and moved ahead as the centaurs raced off on hooved feet in the other direction.

They crossed a stream and were surrounded by pines. The wind kicked up and it was bitterly cold. Jon reached out for Ghost. He could smell the pines more strongly. They were close.

“Crucio!” a voice cried in his mind.

Jon stumbled, nearly brought to his knees by the pain. _No, no, no...don't hurt him!_

“Jon?” Sansa said, pressing against him. "Are you hurt?"

“We’ve got to…go,” he gritted out. "Just through there." 

Soon they could hear them with their own ears. Baelish and his man. 

"Get the damned crate ready for him! I can't hold the beast forever!"

"The crate? He nearly took my arm off!" Baelish's accomplish wailed. 

Jon raced through the last of the underbrush, knowing Sansa and Tormund were not far behind. Ghost was lying on the forest floor. He was alive, Jon knew in an instant. These men would not be taking his friend anywhere.

But just then, Jon felt that curious but sickeningly familiar light-headed sensation coming over him. His blood ran cold. No...it seeped out of his scars, hot and wet. _No, no, no. Please, not now. _

Ghost whimpered as if he could sense Jon's distress. It drew Baelish's attention back to him.

“Crucio!” Baelish shouted but it was Viserys' cold, cruel laughter ringing in Jon's ears. 

Jon cried out in agony as a high-pitched yelp came from Ghost. That pitiful yelp steeled his resolve. He shook his head, his wounds were nothing. He had to save Ghost. 

Baelish turned at the sound of Jon's cry, wand in hand. His eyes narrowed as the quick-witted snake made some instinctive connection between the wolf's pain and his own.

"Cru-" he started to shout, aiming his wand at Jon.

Jon ducked to avoid receiving the Unforgivable Curse dead on and cast his own spell. "Expelliarmus!" Baelish's wand went flying from his hand, a spinning twig. 

“Confringo!” the bleeding man by Baelish's side shouted and the tree behind Jon exploded, raining splinters and larger limbs everywhere.

“Protego!” he heard Sansa cry and the splinters fell impotently around them.

Drawing a ragged breath, his strength ebbing, Jon took aim, determined to stop both men from doing any more harm. “Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus!”

The force of his spells knocked them both backwards a few meters to lay immobile in the knotgrass and nettles of the forest. He hoped the acromantulas would come and eat them. 

Heavily, he lumbered to the direwolf’s side, kneeling beside his friend, feeling the residual effects of the curse, the pain and weakness in the wolf along with the animal’s confusion as the darkness was coming for him.

“Ghost, I’m sorry…I’m sorry.” He was weeping when he felt Sansa’s hand at his shoulder. “I promised him. I promised.”

“He’ll be alright. He’ll...oh God, Jon! Lie down. Here is too much blood, my love. Tormund!”

He could feel hands shifting him to his back. He could hear Tormund yelling something. Sparks flew from the tip of Sansa's wand like flares, blue like her eyes. His hand closed into a fist around white fur as consciousness left him to float once more. 

* * *

His eyes opened slowly the next morning. He was back in Sansa’s office once more but in a hospital bed rather than lounging on her comfortably shabby sofa. Florian was circling his bowl nearby. Where was his Jonquil? 

Sunlight was filtering in through the stained glass window. He felt warm and pleasant in a detached way and wondered where Sansa was as he heard Celestina Warbeck warbling on a radio somewhere.

But a quiet whimper brought everything flooding back.

“Ghost!” He leapt from the bed…a mistake. “Fuck.”

“Language, Jon Snow.”

Uncle Aemon was suddenly beside him...and Old Professor Thorne? Wasn't he dead?

"Five points from Gryffindor for the use of profanity during lessons, Mr. Snow," his old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor rasped in his ear.

"Where's Ghost?!" he cried, ignoring Thorne. 

"He's not here, Jon," the headmaster said sadly. When did he walk in?

"But I heard him!"

"I'm so sorry. He's gone. Your bond was not strong enough and the spell went wrong." He nodded towards Jon's bare chest. 

Jon looked down, expecting to see what he always saw there. A startled yelp escaped instead. His hands flew to his miraculously unmarred chest and belly. The scars were gone! 

“Wha-what…”

"You always were an odd boy," Aemon lamented. 

“We'll let Madam Stark explain everything, Professor."

"No, it wasn't me," he heard Sansa say from behind him. "It was Dickon." He turned, completely flummoxed to see Dickon Tarly standing in Sansa's office...with his arm wrapped around her waist. Sansa was beaming at the guy. "It's always been Dickon."

He was drowning. The sheets were drowning him. He couldn't breathe. 

"No, no, no..."

"Jon?" 

"No!"

Hands were shaking him. "Jon, are you hurt?"

"No, you can't! You..." 

"Jon, wake up! You're having a nightmare!"

His eyes flew open, his breaths shallow as Sansa was worriedly hovering over him. 

He was not in her office. This was a bedroom but not his. This was...he gulped. This was _her_ bedroom. Florian and Jonquil were swimming placidly around their bowl in here. There was sunlight filtering through the smaller window in here but it was not morning. It looked to be past midday. 

He quickly glanced down at his bare chest. The scars were still there same as ever though Sansa had obviously mended them back up again after he’d lost consciousness. 

"I'm...a dream." He shuddered with relief, feeling as broken as a frightened child waking from the most horrible nightmare.

“Jon,” she said softly this time, her hand cupping his jaw, her fingers stroking his beard. There was no mistaking the love in her eyes. He felt ashamed over the dream now. 

“Fuck,” he sighed, struggling to master his emotions. 

“It’s alright. I’m here.” She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. He could nearly sob with joy_. It was just a dream, just a dream._

He thought he heard panting. “Ghost?”

She smiled, squeezing his hand and looking over her shoulder. “Lying by the hearth in my office. Ghost, come here,” she called.

The direwolf appeared in the doorway, moving stiffly, a limping gait. Baelish. A murderous rage filled him though sorrow for his friend’s pain outweighed it at present.

“Oh, Ghost. I’m sorry, boy,” Jon told the wolf as the large furry head came to rest on his lap. Sansa helped him prop up on pillows so he could stroke Ghost's muzzle and scratch his ears more easily, receiving loving licks in return. "I promised no one would hurt you again but I was wrong. I'm sorry." The direwolf's red eyes looked up at him mournfully but without censure. 

“He will not hold it against you and he’ll be alright. We got there in time, Jon. You stopped them from doing anything worse. He’s healing. I don’t know much about healing direwolves but Tormund and I have been doing what we can. He’s already improved a great deal since last night.”

“What happened last night...after I...”

She scratched Ghost’s ears with him a moment, looking thoughtful. “Your powerful stunning spell bought us time but Petyr Baelish woke near dawn and has returned to the Ministry. He's making lots of noise about how Aerys’ grandson is keeping an outlawed direwolf on Hogwarts grounds and how it attacked him."

"Have I made the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ for the second day in a row?" he asked, sourly.

"No...not yet anyway." They gave each other a half-hearted smile at the jest. "His man, Mr. Brune, is missing his left hand and moaning plenty as well.”

Jon looked down at Ghost, his belly knotting up with dread. “I wish he’d killed them both.”

“I’m sure he would’ve if he could’ve.”

“What are they going to do?”

“Baelish is calling for your arrest but…”

“But? I don’t sense any dementors outside the doorway looking to take me to Azkaban.”

“No. He tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on you, Jon. He used it on Ghost.”

“I’m sure he’s denying his attempt to use it on me. I disarmed him first anyway. And it’s not illegal, strictly speaking, to use it on an animal.”

“A law that should be changed.”

“I agree. What else?”

“The headmaster went to the Ministry before Sneaky Petyr regained consciousness once we had things sorted here. He’s lodged a complaint about the Ministry’s treasurer trespassing on Hogwarts’ grounds, harming a magical creature there and attempting to attack three members of his staff.”

“So, we’re at a bit of an impasse?”

“Yes but Baelish is still demanding the capture and termination of the ferocious direwolf. He has Brune wave his bloody stump under the noses of anyone who'll hear them.”

"Terrific." Ghost growled softly in response. Or was that him?

“Everyone’s on your side here, Jon.”

“Everyone?”

“The staff and students.”

“The Ministry won’t care what children say and I doubt they’ll be swayed by the staff either. And that article in the Prophet yesterday will have caused its own stir." Sansa grimaced. She could not deny it. "I may have to get Ghost away somewhere. There's a direwolf refuge in British Columbia or...” 

Sansa’s shoulders slumped and he realized how terribly exhausted she must be on top of sharing his burdens. Neither of them wanted to send Ghost away either. 

“I’m sorry, love. I'll try not to be so morose and we’ll face things as we must, alright?” 

"Alright." 

He glanced around her bedroom, looking for something else to say, to lighten the mood. It was his first time in here after all. 

"Why'd you bring the fish in here?"

"I thought they might cheer you if you woke when I wasn't here." It was sweet of her. The fish were special to them both. "I'm sorry for your unpleasant dream earlier. I was working at my desk when I realized you were thrashing and hurried in. I could brew you something for nightmares."

"Thanks but...well, maybe. It was quite awful."

"What was it?"

"Not worth repeating," he demurred, reluctant to share his insecurities and fears in light of how silly the dream ultimately was. _I dreamt I was healed but it didn't matter anymore because Ghost was gone and you loved Dickon and not me. _Being healed under those circumstances hardly seemed worth it.

"I've had several visitors to my hearth this morning," Sansa said perhaps sensing his continued discomfort from the dream. 

"Arya and who else?" he grinned.

"All of them."

"All of them?" he asked, love filling his heart for them all. 

"Yes but not all at once. Well, Rickon and Bran tried, bless them."

"I reckon that grate's not big enough for the both of them," he chuckled, recalling Arya's words when the two of them had been in it at the same time. 

A flicker of a smile appeared but dimmed again. "Robb and Dad said to tell you they're going to the Minister first thing tomorrow to express their concerns over the Prophet's inflammatory article and the whole business last night in support of you."

"That's...I'll be sure to tell them thanks." It was kind of them though his head was still full of worries. 

"Mum's sending our belongings back by owl post." At least they'd have their coats back. "Oh, and your great-great uncle came by."

"Aemon?" That warmed his heart as well despite the dream.

"Yes, he said he'd like to speak with you when you're awake. He was very curious about Ghost."

That was interesting. Aemon had wished to speak with him twice before and Jon wondered again if the old ghost knew something useful. 

He spied a small cauldron simmering over a burner in the corner after they'd sat in silence another few minutes. “Is that a potion you're making for Ghost or me?”

"Uh no. It's for me...or I suppose for us both in a sense." Her cheeks pinkened a bit.

"Oh?"

"I had a Seventh Year girl come by earlier in need of some assistance."

He wasn't following. "Was she unwell or..."

"She was fine, just a teenager who fancies herself in love. But the poor thing put me in mind of certain realities. Plus, seeing you in my bed earlier had me, um..." She bit at her bottom lip in a rather delectable manner. What was he missing?! "That's just for when we're ready." Her cheeks were nearer to scarlet now.

"Sansa?"

"I'm brewing moon tea in that cauldron there, Jon."

"Oh-uh-oh!" he stuttered as his own cheeks grew warm. 

"I've not needed any in quite a while," she added, looking up shyly from beneath her lashes at him.

"Me either." His cheeks grew hotter as she covered her face and a giggle escape. "I mean, I..."

"I know what you mean. I thought that it would be best to be prepared." 

"My very clever Ravenclaw," he said, his voice growing husky. Despite everything else going on, desire rippled through him. God, he wanted her so much. He was keenly aware of being in her bed now and wearing very little beneath the blankets. He cleared his throat. "It's good to be prepared...when we're ready." 

Obviously, this morning wasn't the time for that with him weak as a kitten after his cursed wounds had opened up and Ghost injured and everything else going on. 

Seeing a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Stark dancing on her bureau, he took her hand. “I wish we’d got to finish our dance,” he said, lightly kissing her knuckles.

“That would be nice.”

“Yule Ball’s coming up next month."

"Is it now?" 

"Yes. If I’m not sacked or in prison, it should be a night of well-mannered frivolity for everyone to enjoy.” Sansa snorted back laughter. “May I ask if anyone's asked to be your date yet, Madam Stark?”

Her smile was back. Anytime he could make Sansa smile or laugh like that…nothing could top it. “I don't believe anyone has, Professor Snow,” she said primly though her cheeks were flushing again.

He leaned forward, edging closer as his eyes flickered between her lips and eyes. “Would you like to go with me?”

“I would…very much,” she said breathily.

"I'm going to kiss you now."

"Ghost is here."

"Ghost will make sure I behave and you don't need your moon tea until we're ready."

She laughed. "Then, what are you waiting on?" 

Ghost panted at them both and received some half-hearted though loving pats. They were a bit preoccupied with leaning across his great body to kiss...and kiss...and passionately kiss some more. Jon suspected their furry chaperone would forgive them all the same. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not mean for nearly a month to pass before I updated this! I'll try and update sooner next time because I truly love writing this story and thanks so much to those of you sticking with it <3<3<3
> 
> Next chapter, Jon will finally have a chat with Aemon and Sansa may have an unexpected visitor turn up at Hogwarts.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December arrives as Jon and Sansa are settling back into life at Hogwarts after Baelish's attempt to steal Ghost even with Jon enduring some unkind press. Plans are made for the Yule Ball, Aemon finally pays Jon a lengthier visit and Sansa has an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to get this updated before I take a little posting hiatus in June so I hope you guys will enjoy it. *throws confetti*

Following the _Daily Prophet_’s article concerning Professor Snow’s parentage last month, there had been a few owls from concerned parents sent to the headmaster. It had grown to quite a peck of them by the time rumors had started spreading about Jon dueling with ministry officials on school grounds and him keeping a ferocious direwolf as a pet. There had been more than one person demanding that Professor Snow be dismissed though not as many as Jon had feared. Regardless, the headmaster had politely but firmly refused all such ‘suggestions.’

Nearly three weeks later, Baelish and the chaos he’d brought hadn’t gone away exactly but, at the moment, he was getting more scrutiny himself than he found to his liking. From what Ned and Robb had relayed, Sneaky Petyr wasn’t getting much sympathy from his superiors at the Ministry for causing the whole hullabaloo on Hogwarts grounds in the first place and was on the receiving end of much criticism for not leaving the hunting of a dangerous beast to the experts in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It brought Jon a very small bit of satisfaction knowing that but he’d still like to see the little weasel locked away (or worse) and out of their hair permanently.

At the height of the gossip at Jon’s expense, it was even said that his Targaryen Madness had come out when he’d become enraged with poor little Edric Dayne during lessons and sent his beast after the boy who was home convalescing after the attack.

Naturally, just as Sansa had predicted, Edric was the first to publicly declare it all a load of rubbish and he’d happily raced to the professor’s classroom upon his return to Hogwarts to greet him after his recovery from his bout of Spattergroit. He was equally quick to show anyone who asked that he did indeed possess both of his hands and that Professor Snow’s Patronus was a wolf and that’s probably from whence the stories of him having a wolf came.

“I told you so,” Sansa said that evening when they were cozily sat together on the sofa in her office before the fire. She’d been saying all along that the bulk of the students and staff were on his side but Jon had been deeply touched by Edric’s unwavering support which had seemed to bring all the lingering stares to an end. The boy was well-liked amongst the Second Years and the Daynes were a respected wizarding family throughout Britain.

“Yes, you did, my clever witch,” he replied, leaning in for a kiss…just before Arya decided to pop in for another unannounced visit. “Bloody hell. Can we put a bell on your hearth or something like the muggles do?”

“They put bells on their fireplaces? Since when?” Arya asked in wonder, dismissing his churlish expression.

Sansa only giggled madly at them both.

All the same, Jon and Sansa believed Baelish and whatever his obsession was with going after Rhaegar through Jon wasn’t done and he was probably still working to stir the cauldron behind the scenes.

But, despite a few uncomfortable weeks following their eventful weekend visit to Winterfell and their even more eventful return, Jon and Sansa had settled back into their routines and duties at the school. Jon had resumed teaching that Monday after their trip even and Sansa had been looking into more potential cures for his cursed wounds.

Ghost had fully recovered by the next day and they had ferreted him out of the castle late that night, keeping an eye out for Frey and his nosy cat. That animal seemed to alert the caretaker of any students up to mischief quicker than anything. Ghost had returned to the forest happily enough though Jon or Tormund were making a point of visiting him most every day and Jon was checking in with him in other ways. He was much better at warging at will now.

The Ministry had sent someone out to look into Baelish's claims at one point but Mr. Slynt, the puffed up, superior-acting fool, had run afoul of the Centaurs nearly the moment he'd set foot in the forest and had only escaped serious injury thanks to Tormund. 

As for Professor Snow and Madam Stark, no one else at Hogwarts was aware that their friendship had fully transformed into a romance just yet. Oh, some probably suspected but, for now, it was just between them. Jon knew that couldn’t last indefinitely but they were taking things at the pace that felt right to them.

Sansa’s moon tea was ready when they were but they hadn’t quite taken that step yet what with their duties and the never ending potential for interruption while school was in session. However, her sofa was seeing its share of action most nights as they snogged like teenagers with things growing decidedly hot and heavy at times and leaving Jon with an unfortunate stiff gait most nights as he made his way back to his lonely bed.

"That really is a lovely screen you found for your fireplace, Madam Stark," he teased before pulling her closer.

"I thought it complimented the hearth rather well and Arya won't get too much of an eyeful if she pops in while we're...busy," she finished with her cheeks growing pink. 

But it wasn’t all lips and lust for them of course. Sansa deserved some romancing so Jon had been busy brushing up on his charm spells as well as being as charming as he could manage. The various items he transfigured into flowers and colorful singing birds for her were not always perfection but they made Sansa smile which was his aim. And though the weather was quite cold now, they'd spent more than one evening walking hand in hand to the edge of the forest to see Ghost or just to stroll around the now frozen lake when no students were out and about. 

With the ball coming up later in the month, he’d need to brush up on his dance moves and get his dress robes out of mothballs before long. He couldn't claim he was much for dancing but he wasn't about to pass up the chance to sway with her at the ball since he'd been denied that back at Winterfell. 

"Are you excited about the ball?"

"I'm excited to be with you there," was his honest answer. "Sansa, may I..." She moaned in response. He'd take that as a yes as he relished the soft weight of her breast in his hand and continued kissing her neck. "I may have to lead you to the garden for some snogging when you tire of dancing, Madam Stark."

"We'll have to set a good example for the students, Jon," she sighed as he was busily kissing his way back up her neck.

"I know," was his rather muffled reply. "Show them the best places to hide out with a girl."

"Jon Snow!" she scolded, half-heartedly whacking at his arm. 

He chuckled and her scolding came to an end when the hand he had at her waist slipped downward. "Alright?" he husked in her ear as she squirmed. He'd swear her breathy yes was hotter than the fire burning behind the screen. 

She shuddered with longing when he cupped her mound through her pajama bottoms, applying the perfect pressure where she wanted as the pressure inside his own trousers became nearly unbearable. 

"God, you're beautiful," he told her when she started whimpering. "Don't think I won't at least try sneak you outside for a bit of this at some point."

"We'll...we're expected to...Jon, I'm...we'll have to break up...any making out or..._oh_...oh, there. Don't stop," she begged. 

Nuzzling at her ears always seemed to leave Sansa a bit confunded, he'd discovered. _Especially when I have my hands where they are._

He gave her breast a gentle squeeze through her top and felt her nipple tightening into a pebble as his thumb brushed across it. He continued that with his mouth at her neck and his other hand rubbing her just so until she made a soft crying sound. He felt her stiffen and then sag against him.

He pulled back to see her eyes the shade of sapphires, the bliss still clear upon her features. She was simply radiant and nothing could be more magical than this. 

"What color will your dress robes be?" he asked a little later when they were trying to settle for their inevitable parting for the night.

"Blue."

"Like your eyes?"

She blushed prettily. "Yes."

"Perfect."

"They're not exactly traditional dress robes."

"I look forward to seeing them whatever the style." _On you, off of you. I'm not choosy._

"Jon?" she said thoughtfully.

"Yes?"

"After the ball...when the bulk of the students are gone for the holiday..."

His pulse was pounding again. "Yes?"

"I want you to stay the night with me."

He softly kissed her lips, unable to contain his grin as she grinned back at him. He'd never fall asleep tonight now. He didn't care. "I'd love that more than anything."

* * *

December was more than half way done and overnight Hogwarts had been transformed into a winter wonderland with snow covering the castle and icicles hanging off its gargoyles. The Great Hall’s fireplace roared day and night to combat the chill one found in the draftier parts of the castle. Students would tromp into his classroom with ruddy cheeks and snow melting in their hair if they’d managed to slip outside between classes.

Youthful hijinks seemed to be in full swing with the promise of an upcoming reprieve. Jon had caught a group of Fifth Years magically hurling snowballs at Frey and his cat Mr. Jinglebell one afternoon. The old caretaker, a Squib, had been grumbling and unable to run for cover fast enough to escape the balls that would follow him behind trees and around corners. 

While there might still be a bit of a mischievous boy inside who had wanted to join in their laughter and fun, the adult and authority figure had won out. He'd caught them red-handed, though he hadn't identified them to Frey, chided them to leave the caretaker alone and return to the castle at once. They'd all shuffled their feet, murmured their apologies and done as he'd said. 

However, the following day, Jon had found himself the victim of a snowball attack when he'd been in the courtyard after classes, not that he minded. At least, they weren’t utterly terrified of Professor Snow and his ‘tainted blood.’ Besides, he was no squib and he gave as good as he got before the appearance of a very cross Transfiguration Professor and a highly amused Potions Master had put an end to the epic battle and the students had filed indoors to warm up their frozen hands.

_"We were just..."_

The older professor had rolled her eyes and strode off but Oberyn had slapped him on the back and invited him down to his dungeon to split a bottle of wine with him. 

At dinnertime, hearty stews and crusty bread filled hungry bellies as the students chatted excitedly about the upcoming Christmas holidays and the Yule Ball if they were old enough to attend. Tormund had been busy all day bringing several small fir trees indoors to be magically decorated by Tyrion and his group of students who had volunteered to help. There was an undeniable air of festivity everywhere one looked. Even the castle’s suits of armor might have a sprig of mistletoe stuck in their gorget or a jolly cap covering their helm.

Jon had always loved Hogwarts at Christmas. He’d spent his first Christmas as a student here, deciding against joining his father and his wife on their trip to Transylvania. He’d known his company wouldn’t be missed at home and neither of them had put up any fuss when he’d asked to stay at school.

He’d felt a little sorry for himself all the same when Robb had left on the train that morning at the start of the break. He’d soon got over that. For lack of a better term, it had been quite magical waking up to find presents, including ones from all the Starks, at the foot of his bed in Gryffindor Tower and then going down to enjoy the tremendous feast later. The usual distance between the staff and students had been eased so that he and the other students who remained had truly felt like they were part of the family.

He looked forward to enjoying that again as a professor himself this time, hoping he might make the holidays a little brighter for a child whose home life might resemble what his had been like growing up in his father’s house, lonely and neglected.

Of course, after that first year, Robb had refused to let him spend another Christmas poking about the Gryffindor common room alone and he’d happily spent the rest of them at Winterfell. Those were some of his very favorite memories save for his final year when he’d struck Joffrey and things between him and Sansa had reached a breaking point. He was glad he had no cause to expect a repeat of that this year.

“Will you miss going home for Christmas?” he asked her Friday morning as he passed the sausage platter down to Oberyn. He had missed Mrs. Stark’s baking and Ned’s stories greatly since he’d grown up and no longer spent his holidays with anyone consistently. The last five he’d spent working or just quietly sitting home with Ghost.

“I’ll miss Mum and Dad and all of them but…well, this _is_ home,” she said with a nod to their surroundings.

He nodded back and smiled at her. It really was. _And we have plans_. Plans that he didn't particularly want to act on for the first time with Sansa under Ned and Catelyn's roof either. 

Lessons would be concluded today. Tomorrow, students Third Year and above and any staff who wished to go would be heading to Hogsmeade Village for their final trip before the new year. The Yule Ball would follow that night and on Sunday morning the bulk of the students would take the Hogwarts Express home for their winter break.

Jon was undecided if he wished to venture into Hogsmeade considering his last trip had ended with them running into Baelish and his wounds opening up.

_And then you getting drunk on Tormund’s spiced mean and making a fool of yourself and…_

He’d better not think too hard on it. He’d go to Hogsmeade again if Sansa wished to go, he supposed. Plus, he did need to find her a present. He was getting more than a little nervous over that.

What did he give the woman he loved with all his heart now that they had acknowledged their feelings for one another? He’d never been in this position before, never expected he would be, to be honest, thinking just a few months ago that Sansa hated him and always would. Should he get her jewelry? Go ahead and buy her an engagement ring? Was he ready to propose to her? In his heart, he was but he didn’t wish for her to feel pressured to marry him considering he was still living with his cursed wounds for now and taking into account that Dickon had proposed twice in the past year.

The question of a gift was still with him that afternoon as he finished his last lesson and bid his students a happy Christmas. He started mulling it over in earnest as he lifted his wand to start tidying the room that would sit empty for the next three weeks.

“Jon Snow?”

Startled, he turned to find Aemon had joined him in his typical silent and unexpected fashion. _You and Arya have that in common._

Determined that the old ghost would not slip off on him this time, he immediately ceased his tidying and pulled out a chair. “Uncle Aemon, won’t you have a seat?”

Apparently pleased by the courtesy (even if he had no need of a place to rest his nonexistent bones), Aemon thanked him and sat (or floated) near the chair. However, he seemed unconcerned with saying anything right away so Jon tried starting things off.

“I’ve barely seen you lately.”

“I do tend to pale in winter,” Aemon replied with a faint smile.

_Was that a joke?_ “Um…how have you been?"

“Dead on my feet, my dear boy.” Jon’s lips twitched though he wasn’t sure if he was meant to laugh or not. “It’s a joke, Jon Snow. Some ghost humor for you.”

“Yes, quite,” he said, relieved to know that laughing was alright. “Did you wish to speak to me about something, Uncle?”

Those strange milky eyes of Aemon's stared at him, seemed to stare through him but Jon controlled the impulse to hide from them.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

That was followed by more silence though. Obviously, Jon would be carrying this conversation for the both of them. _ I'll bet your a bit of a dead weight at parties, Aemon_. He almost chuckled at his own bit of ghost humor.

“About my father?” he suggested. He didn’t _want_ to talk about his father but Aemon had brought him up last time they’d spoke over a month ago so he’d start there. _And then hopefully work him ‘round to wargs and such_.

“Rhaegar yes,” Aemon said solemnly, a tone of foreboding. “Jon, you must see, must make him see...your father isn’t Aerys.”

“I never thought he was.” 

His father was often cold though he hadn't always been that way Jon had been told. Numerous disappointments and then living under the shadow of his father's deeds had done that. He was prideful, rather full of himself when it came to his house and its pureblood ways. 

But after Aerys had started attacking muggleborns and muggles, promising a new world order and regime led by wizards and how the purebloods would cleanse away those who stood in their way? Well, it had impacted Rhaegar's pride and opinion of himself somewhat. Then, he’d fallen for Jon’s mother in a moment of rebellion and had an affair which had led to Jon's conception. In the end though, once Aerys had been killed and his followers were either dead or in Azkaban, Rhaegar had returned to his wife and the Targaryen fold for good. 

He’d been strict with Jon as a boy. He’d always made his opinions well known and woe be it for Jon if he ever vocally disagreed but he’d never believed his father to be mad or evil. 

“He’s not Viserys either. Neither is Daenerys.” 

What did that mean? Viserys had been vile for as long as Jon could remember. It was no great surprise when he’d taken on his father’s cause but he was dead. 

His aunt was alive but Jon had only met her twice. As far as he knew, she was still in Romania working with dragons where she’d mostly been since she’d finished at Durmstrang where her mother had chosen to send her for school to avoid the stigma surrounding them from her father’s crimes. 

But Ned had mentioned her during his visit to Winterfell and said the Ministry was interested in what she was up to. Now, Aemon was bringing her up. Why? 

“Is Aunt Dany involved in something that I should be concerned about, Uncle Aemon?”

“I hope not. She is quite fond of her work...and your uncle was rather fascinated by it as well, I hear."

_How do you hear anything? You're a ghost living at Hogwarts. _ But Aemon had come to see him at The Three Broomsticks. Perhaps Aemon got around more than he knew. 

"Viserys was interested in Aunt Dany's work? Why?"

"Don't you know, Jon Snow?"

Maybe he did. The Aurors had been watching Viserys for a while before Jon had confronted him. Viserys had taken a trip to Romania two years ago before he'd returned to Britain and started recruiting a new group of followers for the old cause. Come to think of it, why had his father taken that trip to Transylvania all those years ago when Jon had been a First Year? It wasn’t any interest in the fictitious Count Dracula or the real vampires that reportedly dwelled there which he'd father had gone to see. It was…

“Dragons.” The largest dragon preserve in the world was there and that's where his aunt currently worked. 

“Yes, dragons. The pride and bane of our house,” Aemon answered sadly. “Ukrainian Ironbellies are the largest of them and Hungarian Horntails are the most dangerous. If they were bred together, what a fearsome beast it would be, don't you think?”

“Wait...are you suggesting Aunt Dany has been working on creating a new species of dragons? A hybrid of the Ironbelly and the Horntail?”

“Perhaps I am, perhaps not. I really shouldn't say.” The old loyalties ran deep and Aemon would not outright speak against them, Jon suspected. 

“Why?”

“Why, indeed, Jon Snow?” Was all of his father’s family power mad? He nearly jumped when he realized Aemon had floated closer, right up to his face. “They’re not a lost cause though. You should talk to your father, Jon. Make him see it's time to let some things go."

"But I...he doesn't want to talk to me." It hurt to say those words. Sansa had been right. He didn't want to care that his father had cut him off after Viserys' death but he did care and it did hurt. Why did he have to go seek him? Why did this have to fall on him? It wasn't fair. 

"Sometimes, life isn't very fair, Jon Snow," Aemon said as if he'd read his mind. "Now, come with me.”

“Where?”

“I have a book for you to read.” Aemon rose from the chair he hadn't really been sitting on and floated towards the classroom's exit. 

“A book? Is it about dragons?”

“No, it’s about wargs.”

“Wargs?”

“Yes, wargs. Like you.”

“You know…” He lowered his voice. “You know what I am?”

“Yes. It was all there in your head when Aerys had Rossart look into your mind as a baby. They didn't understand but I did."

"You said they saw a red comet and something about a face with a tree and..."

"And wolves and wargs with nary a dragon in sight.” 

Jon’s heart was pounding as he followed Aemon down the corridor. What did it mean?

They reached the History of Magic classroom and the old ghost led him to a bookcase in his private quarters behind it. It was small and musty and Jon wondered how gloomy it must've been living here when he'd been alive. Of course, that was a long time ago and he supposed ghosts didn't worry overly much about housekeeping. 

"There's a stack of books at the top of that case if you wouldn't mind," Aemon told him, pointing.

"Yes, Uncle." He reached up and took them down, at least a half a dozen heavy old tomes. He wondered how long they'd sat there. He doubted Aemon had the ability to move them anywhere. "I could straighten all of this up for you if you like."

"That's very kind of you, Jon. I might appreciate having something new to read...or reread. The one on the bottom is it, I believe."

Jon set the others aside, one by one, and lifted the book indicated. It was covered with a thick layer of dust, centuries old perhaps. It's spine was cracked and the pages felt like they could disintegrate if they were touched too roughly. It was too dark in here to read the title. "Lumos."

"Oh, that's bright," Aemon commented.

He was peering over Jon's shoulder as Jon read the title, _"The Magic of Wargs."_

“Yes. Now, it’s a very old book, the only copy in existence that I’m aware of. It was lent to me nearly two centuries ago, as it happens, by one of Madam Stark’s long-passed relatives. I’m afraid I never got it back to him before his death and never gave it to his son before my own. Would you be so good as to give it to her with my apologies and promise to take very good care of it?”

“I will, I promise,” Jon murmured, thumbing through the table of contents. His heart nearly skipped a beat when saw the title of chapter 13: _The Blood Bonding Spell: A Cure for the Cursed Warg._

* * *

With the book stowed under his arm, Jon knew a moment’s indecision at the foot of the stairs that would carry him up to the hospital wing. Checking the time, he opted to head to the Great Hall instead. It was nearly time for dinner and Sansa was likely already waiting for him. 

Thrumming with excitement to share what Aemon had given him and see if it might be of use, he raced down the corridor but turned the corner too quickly, crashing right into Frey and Melisandre who was still trying to convince the old man not to eat any meat pies until the new moon.

“But it’s nearly Christmas and I like ‘em, woman. So does Mr. Jinglebell. Now, be off with yer fortune-tellin’ nonsense an-what in the bloody hell, boy?! You nearly murdered my cat!”

If there was one thing that would get you on Frey’s bad side, which was pretty much where Jon had landed himself within a week of his First Year at Hogwarts, it was doing anything to potentially harm Mr. Jinglebell. Granted, Jon hadn't _meant_ to trip over the animal as he'd been attempting to catch the Quaffle he and Robb had been goofing around with between classes by the lake. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he shouted, helping Melisandre to her feet and getting his hand smacked by the old caretaker when he tried to help him up. Mr. Jinglebell swatted at his legs for good measure. The feline had never forgiven him. _Ruddy cat_. 

“I was just trying to reach San-Madam Stark to show her this book. God…” He’d dropped it and he’d promised to take care of it. _Be just your luck to destroy the thing before you get to read it properly._

“Oh, that’s quite an old book,” Melisandre said, reaching to have a look.

“No!" he said, turning away from her grasping hands. "I mean, I’m sorry but it is very old and it’s not in the best condition. I promised to take care of it.”

“Well, if you’re looking for Sansa, you won’t find her in the Great Hall, Jon,” Melisandre told him, clearly peeved over having her curiosity rebuffed.

“I won’t?” Were they busy in the hospital wing? Had something happened to her?

“That’s right. She'll probably want to take her evening meal in private today,” Frey said with a nasty grin. “She’s got company visiting.”

“Company?”

“That Tarly boy came to visit 'er.”

“Tarly boy?” There were no Tarlys at Hogwarts at present. Little Sam was too young and… “Do you mean _Dickon_ Tarly?”

“That’s right. Dickon Tarly. He was always a find lad. Would give treats to Mr. Jinglebell even. Finest Quidditch player this school’s seen in a good while, too.”

Jon had never in his life heard Frey speak kindly of a student, any student. _And why is Dickon here?! _

“Jon?” Melisandre said, interrupting his thoughts as her hands started tugging at his robe. “You’ve got blood on your shirt. Were you injured in our collision?”

“I’m…” _God, no. No, no, NO!_ “I’ve got to, uh…I need Sansa. Excuse me!” he shouted over his shoulder as he turned back towards the stairs that would lead him to the hospital wing.

He had to get there for various reasons now. He wanted to show her the book, wanted to see if maybe there was some way to cure him. He wanted to know why Dickon was here. But most importantly, if his wounds were opening up, he needed her help…immediately! 

_Why?! Why now?! _ Why did he have to have his weakness reveal itself like this?! He hated it! He especially hated the thoughts of him seeing him this way. 

He was feeling lightheaded by the time he reached the proper floor but he was close and she would help him. He'd be alright. He crashed through the doors of the hospital wing but didn’t see her red hair anywhere. There was a boy lying in a bed resting from some malady and the witch he’d thoroughly vexed during the outbreak of Spattergroit.

“Professor Snow?! What in the name of Merlin…”

“Sansa,” he gasped, the stitch in his side from running no match to the pain of his wounds tearing open, ripping him apart.

Her annoyed look morphed to one of horror as she spied the blood. Mutely, she pointed towards the far side of the room, to Sansa’s office where he’d spent so much time since they’d reunited. 

Without knocking, he entered to be surrounded by…magenta? 

Flowers. Zinnias. Magenta zinnias. Thousands of them. They seemed to cover the entire room. They covered the floor and the walls, even the fishbowl. Were Florian and Jonquil alright in there? 

Hovering over the flowers there were little, golden cherubs throwing bits of white confetti made to look like snowflakes, willy nilly and everywhere. What a mess. 

And they were singing. _What in the..._

Celestina Warbeck’s ‘A Witch and Wizard’s Wintry Wonderous Land’ was clearly the tune they were singing in their little high-pitched voices to the sound of harps. 

_"On a cool winter breeze, we'll sail over trees_ _  
Glistening with flakes of white  
And what could be rich, is if we bewitch  
Some snow and start a snowball fight  
We'll glide right along, singing a song  
And even if our lips turn blue  
Not a thing could compare to floating on air  
In a witch and wizard's wintry wondrous land with you...'_

He could hear a man was speaking over the sound of the song. It was Dickon. “See, I remembered the dress robes you wore to the Yule Ball our sixth year, the same hue as these flowers. And this is the first song we danced to that night and I thought with the ball coming up it would be a good time to…”

_What the fuck?_

“Dickon, this is far, far too much,” he heard Sansa saying. _I’ll say!_ “I don’t…”

“But it’s not too much, Sansa. I realized that I asked you that first time during the hustle and bustle at the Leaky Cauldron over a bowl of onion soup and then wrote it in a letter. It wasn’t special enough. I see that now.”

“Dickon, please, that’s not it. That wasn't why,” she said, clearly pained. 

“And I figured, third time’s the charm as they say and…” 

He got down on one knee, gazing up at her with such adoration. Jon couldn’t blame him. She was everything bright and wonderful in his world and he couldn't imagine having her and losing her. _Wait, _do _I have her? Is she..._

“Sansa, I know I kept putting Quidditch first and I’m not going to do that anymore. The Cannons have an opening on their team and…”

“Dickon…”

“Sansa, will you marry me? Will you make me the happiest wizard alive?”

He felt sick at his stomach seeing this. He didn't want to see it, didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to find out that the past month was just a dream for him. 

But wait. He _was_ sick. 

No, not sick. Cursed. He needed help but he also wanted to know what she would say. 

“Sansa…”

Jon didn’t even realized he’d said it aloud until they both turned towards, Sansa’s eyes wide with shock and Dickon’s dopey look becoming an irritated scowl.

“Do you mind, Snow? This is kind of important and personal.”

“I…don’t...I'm...”

_Please, don't marry him. Marry me_, he thought just as his knees buckled.

"Jon!" he thought he heard her cry before consciousness faded. 

Soon, he was oblivious, oblivious to Dickon's flowers and the cherubs' snowflake confetti and there was nothing. Nothing but the cold, cruel laughter ringing in his ears and surrounding him as the book about wargs landed with a heavy thud beside him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Targ stuff will be on the minor side in this and will get addressed later on but Aemon's book might turn out to be a very good thing for Jon. As for Dickon's 'third time's a charm', if you read my works you are well aware by now that you have nothing to fear there even if Jon was freaking out a little. Next chapter, the Yule Ball!
> 
> Take care and thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

Viserys’ cruel laughter was no longer ringing in his ears. The coldness he'd felt gripping him like a vice was fading. A sweet but worried voice was repeating a complicated sequence of charms, spells and pleas. 

He could hear singing and harps as well. Had he died? Was there truly a heaven? Couldn’t he just haunt Hogwarts like his great-great-great uncle and follow Sansa around instead of going on?

Someone was lifting him up. If his soul had left his body, he shouldn’t be able to feel that, should he?

“Right here. Lay him down carefully.” That was Sansa giving orders…and growing irritable. “Get these snowflakes and bloody flowers out of my way! I can't see a damned thing! This is a hospital wing, not Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop! And silence those cherubs!” The volume dropped and he thought maybe she was whispering in his ear. “Jon. Jon, can you hear me?”

There was her hand on his brow. He wanted to tell her he could hear her and knew she was with him but he was still too far down to reply or move voluntarily yet. His eyes seemed glued shut.

_Retinas are probably scarred by all that horrid magenta. Don’t want to see that color again to be honest._

“What are you doing?” an annoyed voice asked nearby.

“Removing his clothes to be certain the bleeding has truly stopped.”

He was used to this by now. Every time she’d treated his cursed wounds, Sansa had stripped him to his boxer shorts. His initial modesty over it was completely gone these days. He didn’t mind being nearly naked with Sansa. He _wanted_ to get naked with Sansa. Just in far more pleasurable ways.

However, it clearly wasn’t setting well with someone. “Is it really necessary for you to be the one to that?”

“Don’t be such a prude, Dickon,” she snapped. "I'm a healer. Why are those cherubs still singing?!"

“But he's…”

“Silencio!”

More spell-casting but Jon didn’t hear the cherubs or Dickon’s voice again.

He drifted for a time after that, lost in a maze of disconnected thoughts.

_Focus._

What had he been in such a hurry to tell her of when he’d been coming here? The book Aemon had given him! The cure for cursed wargs. Might it help? Was it possible they might be able to stop this from happening? From him ever waking up like this again, short of blood and so confused?

When he started to become aware of his surroundings once more, he realized there was a blanket covering the lower half of his body and could hear them speaking quietly together. 

“I can’t believe you used the silencing charm on me."

"It was more because of the cherubs."

"Wasn't the first time you did that either."

"I...I'd forgotten about that."

"I know I was being a prat back during Seventh Year but that was hardly necessary today." A pregnant pause. "Fine. I was being a prat earlier, too."

“I needed to concentrate on healing him but I am sorry for doing that to you.”

“I’m sorry, too…for lots of things. Sansa, about why I came…”

“Please, don’t ask me again, Dickon. I don’t want to hurt you but my answer's not going to change so please, stop asking.”

“It’s because of him, isn’t it? I saw you, how you reacted when you realized he was hurt.”

“I would take care of any one who was hurt or sick or…”

“Yes, but I could see it in your eyes, how frightened you were, the way you spoke to him. You weren’t just treating a work colleague. You love him, don’t you?”

"I do."

A full minute passed and Jon wondered if someone had used the silencing charm again until Dickon said, “When I ran into him in London last month, he was…I could tell he didn’t like me for some reason. I wondered at it since we’ve never spent much time together but he and Sam are close. I figured it had to do with Robb. I should've realized. How long, Sansa? How long have you been in love with Jon Snow and not me?”

Jon opened his eyes at last. All the zinnias were gone along with the cherubs and their harps. Only a few flecks of snowflake confetti remained where Florian and Jonquil were placidly swimming in their bowl together. Sansa and Dickon were not aware of him waking. They both stared miserably at one another but for different reasons. Sansa did not wish to cause anyone pain. Dickon looked to be in agony so Jon remained quiet, not wishing to rub salt in such a wound. 

“That answer is complicated. I didn't just wake up one morning and decide to transfer my affections elsewhere.”

“How long have you loved him then?”

“I was nine when I first laid eyes on Jon Snow. It was a crush at first sight which only intensified over the following five years.”

“Are you saying you were in love with him all those years then?”

“Yes and no,” she answered gently. “It was a crush but I cared for him, too. However, when I was fourteen, I came to believe that he’d never be interested in me in the same way and I determined I would move on, that I would put him from my mind and dismiss him from my heart. When you and I got together in Sixth Year, I thought I'd managed it. I was happy to be with you...but I'm not sure I'd ever managed to banish him completely. After we broke up and since he started teaching here, all those old feelings have come surging back again, even stronger than when we were younger.”

“But you loved me, didn't you? You did for a time, right?”

“You know that I did.”

“It’s really over for you, isn’t it?”

“It is."

"I suppose two refusals to marriage proposals should've been my clue."

"I hope someday that you'll find someone who you'll...”

"Not bloody likely." .

There was a knock just then interrupting any further discussion and Jon was grateful. This was awkward to say the least. 

It was Oberyn with one of the Fifth Years who had been attempting to brew something rather ambitious in the Slytherin Common Room and foolishly tried to clean up the resulting mess on her own before other students had sought out the Potions Master’s aid. 

“Please, pardon the intrusion,” Oberyn said, his usual urbanity disturbed by the girl’s distressed tears, “but I’m afraid Miss Fowler’s nasty burn is beyond my meager skills, Madam Stark.” 

His dark eyes were full of curiosity as they flitted to Dickon and then briefly landed on Jon who quickly closed his eyes, not wishing to be caught awake just yet. 

“Oh dear me. Of course, of course. This way, Miss Fowler,” Sansa said before excusing herself and leading the girl and Oberyn away.

The two men were alone, one standing uncertainly by the door as the other feigned unconsciousness. Jon hoped Dickon wouldn’t linger long but he probably wished to talk to Sansa further. God, he didn’t ever want to hear another marriage proposal made to Sansa unless _he_ was the one making it.

_He probably doesn’t realize I’m awake. Maybe he’ll go ahead and…_

“I know you’re awake so you can stop pretending otherwise.”

_Shit_.

“Sorry. I was not intending to…”

Dickon turned to face him with a sour expression he couldn’t hide. "You're a lucky bastard, Snow." 

The word bastard could still sting him upon occasion and Jon looked down meaningfully at his bare chest with its ugly scars quite visible. “How do you reckon that exactly?” he asked, sarcastically. 

Dickon's eyes dropped to the wounds and he looked abashed. “I’m sorry. That was unkind of me and uncalled for. I'm just...”

This man was hurting even more keenly perhaps than Jon had been earlier with his cursed wounds. He couldn't blame him for lashing out in a way. Honestly, part of Jon could hate Dickon for being Sansa’s boyfriend once upon a time, might never forgive him for being her first lover and despise the fact that he had caused her pain during the years of their separation but Jon was her choice and who she was with now. And this evening, he couldn’t summon the energy for such tiresome and fruitless emotions. 

Jon softened his next words. “I _am_ lucky. I know it. I feared I'd fucked it all up when we were younger but I was wrong and I love her so very much.”

“I’m sure you do. How could anyone help loving her, right?”

"We can both agree on that then."

Something on the floor by the office door drew Dickon's attention and he stooped to pick it up. He chuckled just as Jon realized what he held. “'The Magic of Wargs'? I see she’s still reading every book she can get her hands on.”

“That’s mine. I dropped it when I came in. Please, be careful. It’s very old and the only copy there is. Sansa’s been trying to find a cure for my cursed wounds and the book might be our best hope of…”

Jon trailed off as Dickon’s expression hardened with the frail old book in his hands, the potential answer to undoing Viserys’ curse. His chiseled jaw was clenched as he slowly turned towards the hearth where the fire burned merrily. Jon’s heart started pounding. What was he doing? Would he burn it? Could Sam’s brother truly do such a thing?

_Accio book! _ Bloody hell! Where was his wand?

“You’re a warg?” Dickon asked quietly as he stood before the fire, gingerly turning the dusty pages that looked as if they might disintegrate if you blew on them too strongly.

“I’m…I…” 

Did he admit it? After the Prophet’s inflammatory articles about him due to his parentage and the business in the forest with Baelish and Ghost, he wasn’t sure he wanted just anyone to know his secret. 

“Sam used to talk about them all the time when we were boys, was fascinated by stories about them. I guess you know that Sam liked inventing the stories in his head well before he ever stared penning them.”

“I remember,” Jon said with a nervous gulp. "Sam has always loved books." _He'd never burn one either._

“He has. He's an excellent big brother and I love him. He was always kind to me even when our father was…well, I’m sure he’s told you how it was at our house growing up.”

“He did.” 

Randyll Tarly was a shit who had never understood Sam's quiet nature and bookish interests and viewed his physical shortcomings as a personal insult. Dickon had been anointed as the Golden Child before he could even walk, too young then to realize his father's cruel version of favoritism. Poor, sweet Sam had never stood a chance in comparison to his athletic and easygoing sibling but it had never dimmed his love for his little brother. 

“I’d beg him to tell me stories that included them at bedtime when I was little but, as I got older, I wasn’t even sure if they were real.”

Dickon was still standing there holding the book but Jon was no longer afraid. “They’re real. We exist.”

Dickon nodded and laid the book upon the mantle. “I’m glad to hear it. Be good to her, Jon,” he said before he headed through the door.

“I fully intend to be.”

* * *

Hours later, after Dickon was long gone and the Fowler girl was resting in one of the hospital cots for the night while her skin was being magically healed (should be good as new by morning with just some pinkness where the burn was most severe), Jon and Sansa were alone in her office at last. They were sitting side by side on her sofa with ‘The Magic of Wargs’ between them as they read.

Jon had been keen to dive straight into Chapter 13 but Sansa had insisted they at least skim the earlier chapters first.

“We’ll go back and reread them more thoroughly later but at least we’ll have a basis.”

“‘We’ll go back and reread?’ Is this an assignment, Madam Stark?” he teased. 

“Most certainly, professor, and there may be an exam. Truly though, this is fascinating stuff. The lore and history of wargs especially. It’s funny that Aemon had borrowed it from a Stark, don’t you think?”

“I agree,” he said, stifling a yawn. 

“You’re not too tired after earlier, are you?”

Whenever his cursed wounds acted up, he usually felt extremely exhausted afterwards and might sleep for several hours but he’d taken a walk earlier while Sansa had fetched them something to eat from the kitchens. Ghost had seemed to know he was coming and met him not far from Tormund’s hut right at the edge of the forest. Their bond could not be denied and the wolf gave him strength whenever he was near. Jon only hoped he gave Ghost strength as well. 

“No, I’m alright. Even a few minutes in company with Ghost seemed to set me to rights. How are _you_ after everything earlier?”

“A little sad for Dickon’s sake but mostly relieved. I’m hoping that’s the last marriage proposal I’ll have to refuse.”

She glanced up at him as he allowed his hand to rest on top of hers. “I hope so, too.” _I plan on being the only other man to propose to you. I certainly hope you'll agree_.

They returned to their reading but Sansa’s hair kept falling over the pages. Vexed, she huffed and started to twist it back into a knot.

“No, let me, please.”

He could tell she wasn’t sure what he meant but she sat still for him. She started grinning as he began to comb his fingers through her silky copper tresses, a steady but gentle raking motion. Once he’d smoothed it back and out of her face, his fingertips messaged her scalp. She sighed and leaned into him.

“Feel nice?”

“Very nice.” He kissed the side of her neck as he swept her hair over the other shoulder, relishing the way she’d completely melted against him. 

“What about this?” he murmured as his teeth barely grazed her earlobe. He started nuzzling at her ear and her breath hitched. The hand that had been holding hers made its way across her lap to her hip and toyed at the hem of her pajama top. His other arm snaked around her waist. 

_Reading time can wait a bit, can't it?_

“I...very, very nice..._ohhhh_..." 

Just as quickly though, she sat up straighter, pulling away slightly before his hands could roam any farther. 

_Or not._

"But I don’t believe we’re finished reading yet, are we?”

“Killjoy.”

She laughed as he drew out a spare hairband from his pocket, one he sometimes used to keep his own hair out of the way. He handed it to her and they continued reading. 

Once they reached Chapter 13, Jon’s eyes were beginning to cross and it wasn’t only from fatigue.

"'A cursed warg can have the effects of nearly any curse reversed by performing the blood bonding spell with his bonded animal,'" Sansa read. "That's promising, isn't it?"

“It certainly sounds like it but listen to this bit, ‘the warg and his animal must be fully bonded or the effects can be dangerous.’ Don't know that I like that. Do you reckon me and Ghost are 'fully' bonded?”

“I think so but we’ll want to be sure. The spell is most effective during the full moon, it says.”

“I’m mostly concerned about any potential harm to Ghost.”

“I know but, it seems like beyond the fact you’ll be sharing a bit of blood with him and vice versa, he shouldn’t be.”

“Wait…you’ve got to brew a bloody potion to go along with the incantation?!”

“I just saw that, too.”

“And it takes a full moon cycle to do it?! So much for a quick fix, I suppose.”

“This is the most complicated potion I’ve ever seen.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else at this point, would you?”

She gave him a sympathetic nod and turned to the potion’s recipe. “Did you notice the ingredients?”

“I did. Mandrake root, bicorn horn, sliced caterpillars…poor little buggers. I’d say Oberyn probably has most of these in his stores if you think we can ask him.”

“Yes, I'm sure he'd help us but Jon, did you notice this one?” 

Sansa’s initial excited tone at the prospect of a potential cure had turned strangely somber. 

Jon peered at the line she was indicating and read: **Seven drops of blood from Warg’s closest kin. **

Seven drops of blood from…

“Jon?”

Of course. Couldn’t be simple, could it? _Nothing ever is_.

“Don’t suppose Aemon has any blood left,” he said, ruefully.

She shook her head and smiled, wanly. “No and he’s not your closest kin.”

He felt like some invisible giant was paying a call on him again, a hearty wallop right in the guts. _Or balls. Fuck me. _

“I don’t want to ask him. I don’t want him to know about any of this.”

“I know."

"He cast me out, tried to make me feel guilty for killing Viserys even though...he said I'd brought shame to..." He bit his lip. His voice had been rising in volume and Sansa wasn't who he wanted to shout at. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I'm so sorry for all of that, Jon, but he’s here in Britain and he’s literally your closest kin.”

Jon sighed heavily and started rubbing his tired eyes. He felt Sansa pulling the book from his lap and heard her setting it aside. She curled up next to him, nestled close and encouraged him to put his arm back around her. He breathed in the lingering bit of her perfume and citrusy shampoo, allowing the scents to soothe him. 

“I think we’ve read enough for tonight,” she murmured. “Whatever you decide, I won't argue. We’ll handle this however you wish to, Jon.”

She would go along with whatever he wanted. If he said to forget it, she’d not condemn him, only start searching for another possible cure. But what if there wasn't another one? What if this was his chance to be free of the curse? 

He wanted to marry her, wanted to have children with her some day. He didn't want to live his life afraid of pursuing those things either. 

Would his own father really begrudge him seven drops of blood when it was his psychotic brother who’d cursed him in the first place? And a better question might be, could Jon's pride handle asking for his help?

_For her, I can. _

“When would we need that particular ingredient?” he asked as he held her while she lovingly caressed his shoulder and chest.

“Not until the very end. We’ll need the required time to brew the first part of the potion and then we’ll have to wait for the next full moon so…” She quickly added up the days in her head. “Five weeks.”

“Five weeks. I suppose I could try and talk to him like Aemon wants anyway between now and then…and ask for a little blood while I'm at it. More interesting than borrowing a cup of sugar, right?” 

She kissed his cheek. “I’ll go with you if you like.”

“Thank you, love, but I think it might be best if I go alone in this instance. For now, I’d rather think about you going with me to the ball tomorrow night if you don't mind.”

“I don't mind one bit.”

* * *

Dawn had arrived hours ago when Jon finally woke on Saturday. A delicious sense of idleness came over him as he lay abed and stretched. It was hours until he had to put on his dress robes.

Both he and Sansa had admitted having a bit of Christmas shopping to finish up and agreed to spend the bulk of their day apart before they would meet by the staircase outside the Great Hall for the Yule Ball that night. 

She’d asked him if he was going into Hogsmeade and if he would ask Oberyn about the ingredients they would need to get started on the potion for the blood bonding spell which she didn’t already have in her cupboard. 

Deciding to speak with Oberyn first since he was still uncertain what to get Sansa for a gift, he threw on a pair of trousers and a jumper and headed down to the dungeons where the Potions Master lived after swinging past the kitchens to snag a muffin.

“Those scars…they were why you came here to teach?” Oberyn asked when Jon had asked about the ingredients. 

Jon figured he’d noticed them. He wouldn’t insult his intelligence by pretending he didn’t know what he meant.

“They are.” 

He gave a brief explanation, watching Oberyn’s dark eyes grow darker. “Your uncle was a nasty piece of work.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“I’m sorry for you troubles but I’m glad you’re here. You’re a good teacher, Jon, a fine addition to Hogwarts.”

“Thanks.” It was flattering praise from such a long-tenured teacher and he was starting to feel like maybe he was good at it. If he was cured, did he still want to return to being an Auror? That'd be a conversation to hold with Sansa at a later time, he supposed. 

“If I can help you any with the potion, just ask.”

“Thank you. I think between Sansa and myself we can manage but we’ll know who to call if we need some assistance.” 

Before Oberyn gathered the items, he wanted to show off his new dress robes. Orange with red trim and cinched at the waist with a gold belt, they were far more colorful and eye-catching than Jon’s to be sure. 

And apparently, Oberyn had an enchanted mirror in his quarters. It was currently telling him how dashing he looked in his new robes. Jon couldn’t exactly argue with it. 

“Is that dragonhide I spy as the trim?” the fawning mirror gasped excitedly. 

“Yes, it is. Quite costly but worth it, don't you think?” Oberyn asked as he fingered his moustache. 

“I’ll say. I absolutely love the look on you.” 

They were certainly more costly looking than anything Jon would be purchasing for himself anytime soon. That brought his upcoming shopping trip to mind. Oberyn was still admiring himself in the mirror and Jon figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. 

“Say, Oberyn...What sort of gift might you suggest a man buy for a woman he’s seeing?"

"Seeing?"

"Uh...involved with?”

“How involved with?” he asked with a smirk.

“Alright, in love with. What would you suggest getting a woman you’re in love with for a gift?”

“A sapphire the size of an ostrich egg to match her lovely eyes and diamonds and moonstones woven into the finest hairnet money can buy to wear in her beautiful red hair.”

“Sounds like you’ve figured out who I’m buying for then.”

“It wasn’t a difficult guess,” Oberyn chuckled.

“I’m a bit short of funds for that.”

“How about a book? She loves to read.”

“I could but…well, I sort of brought her a book just yesterday and I don’t want her to spend the _entire_ Christmas break reading.”

The majority of the students would be going home tomorrow morning and Sansa had mentioned wanting him to spend the night. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t happily lie in bed beside her someday while she read a book but it wasn’t what he had in mind at present.

“You could write her a poem.”

“A poem?” he gulped. “I’m pretty sure she’d thank me not to.”

Oberyn snickered. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something, Jon. Sansa will appreciate the gesture if it’s something from your heart. Are you planning on making your relationship known to others soon?”

_“Uhhhh…”_

“Because a couple of us may have a wager riding on when that might happen.”

“A wager? How much?”

“It’s up to a hundred gold galleons.”

“A hundred?! What’d you guess?”

“Tonight at the ball. I said you two wouldn't be able to continue your pitiful attempts at hiding it any longer.”

“Is that right?" Oberyn crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to the side. "Well...that’s probably a safe bet.”

“Excellent! I’ve got my eye one some red dragonhide boots to go with these robes,” Oberyn said with a clap before going to retrieve the needed ingredients. 

Jon turned to glance at his reflection in the mirror as he waited.

“Why don’t you scare your hair to death and run a comb through it for once, dear boy?” the mirror asked him, cheekily.

“Why don't you bugger off?”

"Well, I never!" it huffed in outrage before turning opaque on him. 

A few hours later, Jon was wishing for an enchanted mirror of his own to send some compliments his way as he stared at his reflection again while wearing his basic black dress robes and bowtie. 

He supposed he looked passable anyway. A touch pale perhaps after the blood loss yesterday. 

_Like some half-starved vampire_. 

The robes were alright but weren’t exactly new either. 

_Still smell of mothballs_. 

And his hair was…

_I swear, I’ve combed it. _

Last minute, he decided to wear it back in a bun and pulled out one of his hairbands. 

The clock chimed 7:30 and it was time to head down to meet Sansa. 

_As well as, you know…doing your bloody job_. 

He needed to remember it. This wasn’t all about having a night of well-mannered (or not so well-mannered) frivolity with the woman he loved, pretending they could go back in time and relive something that could’ve happened for them years ago. They were responsible for the students here and expected to act as chaperones and set an example. 

_So no feeling her up in the corridors._

_Not even once?_ a more devilish side of him asked. 

_Shut up, you._

Aside from some fire whisky getting secretly passed around and teenage hormones getting the best of some of the students, Jon didn’t expect any real trouble with them tonight. He certainly hoped there wouldn’t be any for him either. He was looking forward to this more than he’d anticipated, wanting to make it perfect for Sansa and, for once, could his cursed wounds, warg dreams, Sneaky Petyr and the _Daily Prophet_ or his mad as a hatter family please not ruin that for him? 

When he reached the entrance hall, it was packed with students milling about waiting for the Great Hall doors to open at eight o’clock or searching out their partners if they were from other houses. He greeted a few of them before finding Melisandre in her fiery scarlet robes. Next came Tyrion to join their group in his crimson and gold ones. The headmaster was nowhere in sight but said to favor the same periwinkle robes he’d worn for decades. 

Jon spied Tormund by the door wearing at ghastly looking suit that looked be made of a bear’s skin with a garish tie covered with reindeer and elves. He was staring intently at Madam Tarth, the flying instructor, intermittently rubbing at his great red bead and taking nips from a flask he kept pulling from his pocket. Nips of liquid courage, no doubt. Poor fellow was a bit taken with her.

Oberyn strutted up the stairs from the dungeons with some of the Slytherin students behind him just as Professor Liddle who taught Astronomy and was wearing green and white tartan robes came over to join them, his heavy Scottish brogue requiring Jon to listen carefully to anything he said. 

“Did you find that gift you were looking for earlier in Hogsmeade, Jon?” Oberyn asked at one point. 

“I did. Well, I hope it’s…It’s a little warm in here, isn’t it?” he asked as he tugged at his bowtie, already looking forward to yanking it off.

The truth was, Jon’s nerves were starting to get to him. He'd found a gift but not entirely sure it was anywhere near good enough for her. He'd be giving it to her day after tomorrow so he could worry over it then. Meanwhile, where was she? The doors would open any second and the ball would begin. 

Frey shuffled past them holding Mr. Jinglebell who he’d put a festive little Father Christmas hat on. The old arse glared at him, muttering under his breath. _Probably heart broke on Dickon’s behalf._

“Perhaps we should go on in ahead of the students,” Melisandre suggested. She held out an arm towards Jon expectantly. He didn’t wish to be rude but he had a date even if it wasn't common knowledge yet. He wasn’t escorting Melisandre in to the ball.

“I, uh…don’t you think we should wait for everyone?” he asked.

Thankfully, Oberyn slipped up beside him to take Melisandre’s arm, giving Jon a wink when he said, “We can all wait another minute or so. I’m sure it won’t be long now.” 

He stood on tip-toes to look on the far side of the hall. Maybe she’d come down early and he’d just missed her. _Or maybe she’s waiting upstairs?_ What if they’d got their wires crossed? He was nearly positive Sansa had said for him to meet her here but should he have gone to the hospital wing instead? What if she ran into another boggart or if there’d been another outbreak of an illness that he was unaware of? 

“Oh, doesn’t she look lovely?!” Kojja Mo, the Arithmancy professor, exclaimed just as he was growing panicked enough to go searching for her. 

Noticing that she was speaking of someone at the head of the staircase, he looked that direction…and felt all the air leave his lungs. There was Sansa, her beautiful auburn hair swept up in an elegant bun with a few tendrils hanging loose in robes of midnight blue that were entirely unlike any dress robes he’d ever seen. Like a cloak, they were fastened at the neck by a pale silver brooch but there was a slit along each arm, allowing her lovely pale shoulders to peep out. Underneath the robes, she wore a cornflower blue gown of some gossamer type fabric that seemed to shimmer and wink at him with each step she took down the stairs in pearly slippers. 

Jon moved away from the rest of the teachers like a man in a trance until he found himself alone at the foot of the steps with Sansa gliding towards him, a radiant smile on her face. 

Too in awe to do more than smile at her stupidly, he tried to think of a worthy compliment as his eyes flickered up and down. “That’s…your…they're...God, Sansa.”

“I made them myself. Do you like them?” she asked just as he really noticed the brooch.

“I-I like the wolf bit.” He felt himself blushing like a boy, somehow knowing she’d chosen it for him. 

“Thank you,” she replied, her own cheeks growing pink. “I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner. You look very handsome.”

He nodded his thanks, still feeling like he’d been hit by a stunning spell, and the doors to the Great Hall opened at last. Strains of violins filled the hall as the murmuring crowd started making their way inside. 

“Shall we?” he asked, recovering his senses enough to offer her his arm.

Grinning happily, she took it, pressing her body against his and her lips to his cheek for a kiss. Unable to resist, he turned his head and brought his hand up to her chin to steady her there so he could kiss her back...on the lips. It was chaste but clearly a romantic kiss and he heard Oberyn chuckling. When they walked past the others both still flushing, Oberyn was holding out his hand towards Tyrion who was resignedly reaching into the pocket of his robes. Looked as if Oberyn would be getting those dragonhide boots to match his robes. 

Entering the Great Hall, they admired the sparkling silver frost covering the walls and garlands hanging beneath the celestial display on the enchanted ceiling. Tables and chairs were arranged at the corners of the room and the headmaster by the small orchestra greeting everyone. Jon led Sansa directly to the dance floor. They had duties to see to and a fancy dinner would soon be served but he was determined to have this moment with her.

“May I have this dance, Madam Stark?”

“You may, Professor Snow,” she said with an elegant curtsy before he took her into his arms and they began to glide around the floor amongst a dozen other pairs of dancers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll pick back up at the dance and what happens after the dance *waggles eyebrows* next chapter :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

The ball was winding down as midnight neared. Several students had already slipped off to bed what with an early morning to catch the train expected tomorrow.

Jon and Sansa had shared one final swaying dance a while ago, their third of the night, but beyond that kiss in the hall in front of a handful of their fellow staff members, they’d given no other outward indications that they were a couple.

They figured a majority of the teenagers wouldn’t pay them much heed, too wrapped up in the comings and goings of their own peer group as they should be, but they were expected to set an example. Professor Snow desperately pawing at Madam Stark in an alcove wasn’t the way to go about that.

Mostly, Jon and Sansa had decorated a wall after dinner was concluded, talking to the other adults and staying out of the way of the young revelers. Tonight was for them after all.

Sansa had danced once with the headmaster and once with Oberyn though as both men were fond of dancing. Jon had watched her twirling around the room but nursed no childish jealousy over it. She was radiant and he could admire her beauty at his leisure from where he stood and when their eyes met, she gave him a smile that was for him alone.

Shortly after their last dance though, the deputy headmistress had approached and asked a favor.

Thus, they were ostensibly checking the empty Thestral carriages for horny teenagers outside the castle.

Except no one reckoned how horny two adults might be.

The other carriages had been emptied, their youthful occupants admonished to return to the castle, and they were alone out here. _There are some advantages to being a grownup after all._

“You know what this reminds me of,” Sansa asked when they climbed into one and shut the door.

“That we like snogging in various vehicles? First an automobile and now a carriage. Shall we make out on broomstick next?”

“We really shouldn’t.”

“My Nimbus is all polished and ready for you. Not to brag but I’m quite skilled with it, I’ve been told.”

“Your Nimbus? Is that a naughty euphemism, Jon Snow?”

“Come fly with me and find out.”

She laughed and said, “I’m referring to tonight. We shouldn’t do this out here right now.”

“I really think we should.” 

“But that would make us complete hypocrites after sending those students off just seconds ago.” Her statement was somewhat negated by her wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging him closer.

“What’s a little kiss?” Granted, he had more in mind than just a little kiss.

With his hands at her waist, Jon closed his eyes to savor the moment as they slowly moved towards one another. Just as he was expecting to meet her lips though, she darted to the side and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“There’s a little kiss for you,” she said and he opened his eyes again to find her grinning at him playfully.

“My night is perfect then.” He sighed for effect and pulled back some from their embrace as though that chaste peck would suffice.

Her lips were twitching but, the longer her held back as if he had no desire to continue, the less pleased she was. “Of course, you have been a lovely date to the ball and I did keep you waiting for me earlier longer than I meant to."

"I was in agony that you wouldn't show up."

"Were you really?"

"I was ready to come searching for you. But if I'd found you looking so beautiful and us all alone, I'm not sure we'd have ever made it to the ball."

She nodded before declaring, "Being as you've been such an agreeable date and the night is nearly done, I think it would be acceptable for you to give me a kiss here, don't you?”

“That would be my pleasure,” he said huskily in reply before advancing again. This time she didn’t pull any surprise moves.

Soft and slow, the kiss was testing at first but became more urgent as it went on, their mouths perfectly melded together. He held her tighter to him, exploring with his tongue and gratified by her breathy, mumbled moan when he did so.

But before he could get carried away, the carriage door swung open unexpectedly on them. 

_Should've used a charm to keep it shut, _Jon thought as Sansa gave a gasp which was met by an answering one. 

Jon was not reduced to gasps. "Oi! Do you mind?!" 

“Beg pardon, we’ll find another to…”

Jon glared at the pimply Seventh Year who was speaking, effectively silencing the boy (one of his dimmer students unfortunately...or fortunately), before remembering himself and clearing his throat uncomfortably. _Time to be a hypocrite._

“Professor Snow?!” the boy gulped as the girl beside him hid her face. Well, Jon could hardly blame her since Sansa’s was currently buried in the crook of his neck.

“Mr. Beesbury, Miss Oakheart,” he said as smoothly as he could manage, grasping Sansa’s hand and pulling her out of the carriage past the two teenagers while quickly making a survey of Sansa's dress robes and his own. _Not too rumpled at least_. “We’ve just emptied these carriages of some of your fellow students and I'm sure neither of you would want to be caught out of doors once the clock strikes midnight. Would be a shame for Hufflepuff to lose any points so close to the break. I'd say it's best if you both head back inside at once.”

“Yes, sir,” both said, scurrying away but not before Jon heard the word ‘hypocrite’ very plainly drifting over their shoulders.

“Yes, I am,” he chuckled, looping an arm around Sansa’s waist and offering to escort her back to her quarters for the night.

“Yes, I’m ready to turn in, I believe.”

They made their way along the castle corridors to the hospital wing where two of her assistants were still up chatting. Sansa was unusually quite when asked about their night at the ball. After they'd finished their pleasantries, Sansa stiffly invited him in for a nightcap, clearly very conscious of their audience. Jon visiting Madam Stark's private office was quite common by this point but her usual ease with it was lacking tonight.

Sure enough, she gave him a sheepish look when they entered, winding herself up to say something. "I know we've spoken of the ball and after..."

“Sansa, we spoke of the ball because we wanted to be together at it. We were and I had a wonderful time. We also spoke of the holiday break with the students and most of your staff away. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

She gave a relieved sigh. "Thank you for understanding. It'll just be me tomorrow night. I'll be quite lonely then, I'm sure," she added suggestively.

"All alone in the hospital wing at night, Madam Stark? May I pay a call on you then after dinner? Make sure Florian and Jonquil aren't giving you any grief?" he teased, holding her hands in his before lightly brushing one palm with his lips.

A shuddering sigh this time which he loved hearing before she said, "You may, Professor Snow," just as the clock struck midnight.

* * *

For one of the shortest days of the year, it seemed doggedly determined to last and last. The minutes felt like hours and the hours like days even after the students travelling home for break had been ferried away by the Hogwarts Express and the dozen, give or take, who remained were settling into their days of idleness. 

Madam Stark had said she’d be busy making certain the hospital wing was cleaned properly and restocked for when the bulk of her charges returned. Professor Snow had kept himself occupied with grading the remainder of the essays he’d assigned in mid-December and later he’d helped clean and rearrange Aemon’s collection of books so that the old ghost might reread them. He’d even brought him a new one on Muggle inventions as a Christmas gift.

“But I teach the History of Magic, Jon Snow.”

“I know, Uncle, but this is a history of their sort of magic; telephones and electricity, motion pictures and automobiles. It's quite fascinating the things they come up with.”

“I never thought of Muggles having any magic at all but I suppose you have a point,” Aemon conceded before sticking his nose straight into the book. 

Jon lingered in the doorway a moment, pleased that he'd pleased Aemon. “Happy Christmas, Uncle.”

“Same to you, dear boy. I don’t believe I have anything fit for a gift…”

“You gave me one already. The book on wargs.”

“Oh yes, quite right,” he agreed and then promptly started reading again. 

_And you’ve always treated me like family which is a gift in itself. _

Jon was anticipating dinner which would signal the end of the day and be his chance to see Sansa again. They’d only exchanged a few words over breakfast, surrounded by their colleagues who were quite loquacious after the ball the previous evening. Everyone seemed to be looking forward to their upcoming period of quiet.

“We love to see them arrive, we love to see them go,” Tyrion said philosophically of the empty halls as they headed towards the Great Hall from the library. 

“I suppose so. I will enjoy the break but I’ll miss seeing them, too.”

“That’s because you belong here with us.”

“Thank you, Tyrion.” 

Oberyn had said something similar the day before and, more and more, Jon agreed. He now looked at teaching as more than just a soft place to land after his dismissal from the Aurors. He was even starting to think it was what he was meant to do. There was much to be said for shaping the minds of young witches and wizards, passing on knowledge that could someday benefit them more than they might realize here within the castle walls.

He had loved being an Auror, had been quite proud to be accepted into that illustrious company. But always hunting for evil-doers was wearing on a person’s body and soul after a time. He didn’t want to become as haunted, paranoid and battle-scarred as some of the older ones either. The thought of returning, should he be healed, no longer held much allure. 

Unlike the broken man who’d come here months ago feeling lost and unsure of himself, Jon Snow knew what he wanted. Fighting dark wizards, proving he wasn’t like his grandfather and uncle wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted a life that included a steady home, a wife and family. He wanted those things with Sansa. And maybe continuing on as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was something he wanted, too. 

“Any more word from Baelish or the Prophet?” Tyrion asked, drawing him from his reflections.

“Uh…no.” 

His rage flared just thinking of the man. Ghost was perfectly well again but Jon would never forgive Baelish for hurting him. _If I were still an Auror, I’d make it my mission to thoroughly investigate anything and everything Petyr Baelish is involved in. Something tells me, he might very well wind up in Azkaban someday as it is. _

As for the Prophet, they’d moved on to other stories what with Baelish’s claims meeting with skepticism and censure from some well-respected members of the magical community, namely the Starks, the Daynes and his colleagues and students at Hogwarts. 

“Well, my father keeps his hand in things as you probably know…” How could he _not_ know? Some whispered that Tywin Lannister was as powerful as the Minister himself, maybe more so. He was as feared in some circles as Jon’s grandfather had been, too. “And he says that Baelish is clever but he’s playing with fire at the moment.” 

“Playing with fire? Sounds like a good way to get burned.” He couldn’t say he’d feel too sorry for the man if so.

“Indeed. As the Muggles say, sometimes it’s the strongest swimmers who drown.”

With that, the Charms professor sauntered off to speak with Melisandre, leaving Jon to think of his father and Aemon’s wish that Jon would speak with him. He was going to be forced to speak with him regardless in order to obtain those seven drops of blood required for the blood bonding spell. Tomorrow was Christmas though and he didn’t know if he was up to facing rejection from his father again on the holiday. And there was the chance he might spend it abed with Sansa, far more appealing than dysfunctional family reunions.

Jon found himself seated next to Sansa at dinner as usual. Her cheeks were rosy and there was a certain awareness and tension lingering in the air between them but it was not the awkwardness that had fallen after they’d returned from the ball to find her assistants still sitting up last night. 

“This roasted pheasant is quite good,” he commented as they tucked in. More quietly, he added, “I've missed you all day.”

“It is,” she agreed. “We had it last Christmas Eve as well. I believe these potatoes could use a bit more pepper though.” She leaned across him to reach for the pepper mill, her breath tickling his ear. “I missed you, too. Could you bring a bottle of that winterberry wine with you later?”

“Certainly. I think I’ll have some pepper, too.” 

Dinner consumed at long last, he gave Sansa a head start when they left the hall in hopes of not being too terribly obvious where he was headed. He swung by his quarters to fetch the wine and his gift for her. He strolled along the empty corridors with his parcels tucked into his rucksack and entered an all-but-abandoned hospital wing with just a few candles burning in their niches.

And silhouetted in the doorway of her office by the fire burning in her hearth inside was Sansa waiting for him, wearing something other than her usual flannel pajamas tonight. In a satin pale blue nightie that would barely cover her bum, she had her waves of fiery red hair hanging loose and Jon thought his brain was on the verge of short-circuiting like those Muggles and their electricity.

“I was in agony you wouldn’t show up. I nearly went looking for you,” she said teasingly as his jaw was hanging open.

“Not dressed like that you bloody well won’t,” he growled, closing the distance between them so swiftly she yelped giddily when he pulled her into his arms. 

Last night’s kisses in the carriage had been passionate but they couldn’t match these in terms of sheer hunger. Nineteen years, he’d known Sansa Stark since they were children. He’d fallen for her as a teenager but then feared he’d lost any chance with her forever. But now, the woman he loved was his, just as he was hers. How could he put into words what that meant to him? The simple answer was that he couldn’t but he would show her his devotion and adoration any way he could for the rest of their lives.

He framed her face tenderly between his hands, watching her eyes darken from sky blue to sapphire. He kissed her once…twice…before devouring her, pouring all those years of longing into this kiss just as he’d tried to last month in Ned’s garage. 

They broke apart to draw breath, both chuckling softly until she started nibbling at his bottom lip with her hands exploring his chest and shoulders, loosening the tie from his hair and taking a step away towards her bedroom.

It was probably wise. Her hearth was right there and Arya still had appalling timing even with the screen in place. 

Something gave him pause though as he closed the office door behind him and Sansa started tugging his hand with a bewitching grin.

“Wait. May I give you your Christmas gift first?”

“You want to give it to me right now?” she asked, incredulously. That had been planned for tomorrow morning but they would suffer in his rucksack all night.

“Please?”

“Of course, Jon,” she said as he led her to the sofa, the scene of many heartfelt talks and more than a little snogging.

Opening his rucksack, he felt his nerves building. It wasn’t good enough for her but Oberyn had suggested something from the heart and this had been what he’d settled on. He pulled out the bottle of wine first. “For now or later as you wish.”

She took it and set it on the floor at their feet. “I would love some…later.” Her eyes glowed with delightfully devilish innuendo and he thought he might have fallen just a little bit more in love with her. 

He put his hand on the tissue paper from Dogweed and Deathcap and drew a deep breath. “My mother was…bloody hell, I don’t mean to ruin the mood talking about my mother but…”

“Jon,” she said sincerely, placing a hand on his knee. He raised his eyes to meet hers. “Anything you wish to share with me regarding your mother or your feelings is a gift in my eyes. Tell me.”

He swallowed and began again. “She was very fond of blue roses. Not the dyed ones that Muggles sell at florist shops but true winter roses that only grow a handful of places.”

“I cannot blame her. They’re beautiful though very rare. Pale blue, the color of frost, some say, with an unusually long period of blooming.”

“Yes. She believed herself in love with my father though she was quite young and didn’t wish to dwell overly much on the reasons it was destined to end badly. As a child, she once told me she thought it was the day he brought her a wreath of blue roses that she became enchanted with him. Of course, a thing being costly or scarce has never been any object for him to get what he wanted so...but that's not what I mean to say. They're rare and precious and lovely.” 

Sansa nodded, waiting patiently for him to get it out like always. 

“Anyway, their tale is not a happy one but my mother would always smile whenever she spoke of blue roses or managed to get one for herself. And I thought…” 

Drawing the gift from his rucksack, he laid the bouquet upon her lap, anxious for her reaction. She sat there staring at them with no obvious indication of what she was thinking so he pressed on.

“The shopkeeper said they would not lose their bloom for a hundred days at least and I’d thought they might make you smile whenever you're working in your office and we cannot see each other during the day. In time, they will fade as all flowers do but I promise you, Sansa, my feelings for you will not. My mother was barely more than a child when she fell in love. We are not though our love grew from that age. Our affections have been tested but we have matured from when we were students here. And unlike unhappier love stories, my heart and my intensions towards you are true and honorable..._always.”_

She lightly stroked one perfect petal with a fingertip before raising her teary eyes to his. “I love this gift very much, Jon. No other gift could please me more.”

Along with the flowers, he’d brought a vase to hold them. Florian and Jonquil soon had company on the table behind Sansa’s desk…and the couple soon resumed their kisses.

“Did you want your gift as well now?” she asked breathlessly when he rose from the sofa to continue this elsewhere.

“You’re my gift,” he told her before hoisting her into his arms.

“Jon!” Sansa shrieked though she was laughing.

“Forgive me but I can’t wait to unwrap my gift, it's in such pretty wrapping, too.”

She was giggling as he carried her through to the bedroom and kicked the door closed behind him before setting Sansa back on her feet again. Her face was flushed and she was a bit unsteady but she was happy and that was what mattered to him.

“I want you,” she hummed in his ear.

“And you shall have me,” he said pulling off his jumper and undershirt in quick succession.

She looked down at his scars, deftly tracing the one by his heart. “May I do something first?”

“You may do anything you like to me, love.”

“Lie down, please.” He did and soon she was hovering over him. "Ever since I first saw them, I've wanted to do this. My heart ached for you and the pain these have brought you but also I dreamt of sharing this kind of intimacy with you, of loving you and doing whatever I could to make things better for you." 

Chastely and lovingly, she kissed every inch of one scar before moving to the next, all across his chest and abdomen. It was his eyes threatening to spill over now at her tender care of him. She was a healer in every sense of the word and he was the luckiest man alive. He'd duel with any wizard who said otherwise. 

Tenderness however was soon replaced by the urgency of two people eager for more vigorous expressions of love. Plus, he could see down her nightie as she was leaning over his belly and the view and her proximity made his cock twitch.

The rest of Jon’s clothes along with Sansa’s pretty nightie were soon littering her bedroom floor. He gulped like any boy seeing her naked for the first time, his beautiful woman with her full, firm breasts and flared hips, her auburn hair spilling over white shoulders and the darker thatch of it covering her mound. She was glorious. 

Gently laying her back, he climbed over her, kissing her mouth, her neck and throat. Working his way down to her breasts, teasing her nipples in turn as she moaned beneath him, writhing and bucking her hips up towards his straining cock.

“Please Jon…I need you,” she sighed, urging him on.

Jon reached down, slipping a finger past her curls and folds. “You’re wet for me,” he husked, feeling ridiculously smug.

“Very. Now, Jon.”

He removed his finger, making a show of sucking on it first and watching her eyes widen in shock and delight as he tasted Sansa this way for the first time. He’d definitely need another taste soon. 

All the same, they were both growing desperate by this point so he centered himself and pushed his way slowly inside with a muffled curse. “Fuck, Sansa.”

“Yes, that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?” she asked with a pert grin, making him chuckle and kiss her nose before he started thrusting and all teasing was forgotten. 

Afterwards, as they lay tangled together blissful and temporarily sated, he stroked the soft skin of her back as she toyed with the sprinkling of hair on his chest.

“I love you,” he muttered as sleep came to claim him.

“I love you, too,” she replied before slipping off as well. 

* * *

Jon was quietly whistling to himself as he walked along the empty corridor to his quarters a little before dawn. In his rush last night, he’d not thought to bring a change of clothes and he wouldn’t wish to cause any tittering gossip during their Christmas feast later by appearing in the same clothes again. He’d slip in, retrieve a couple of items and then return to Sansa’s bed before she woke. Actually, he had a pretty good idea of how he’d like to wake her and he started grinning lasciviously.

They'd snoozed after the first time but then rousted and made love again around midnight. Then, they'd made their way into her office to find a bite to each and share the bottle of wine while Sansa drank her moon tea. Except then, they'd decided her sofa needed breaking in as well. Luckily, his clever witch had plenty of moon tea brewed.

_Would anyone truly miss us that much for the goose and Wizard crackers if we didn't come down for the feast? _

“Professor Snow?” 

Jon whirled, startled to find he wasn’t alone and never expecting to see the headmaster in this part of the castle early on Christmas morning. 

“Sir! I was, uh…Happy Christmas to you.”

“Happy Christmas to you. May I inquire what has you up and about this early, professor?”

The headmaster’s tone concerned Jon and, for a moment, he felt very much like a student again caught out of bounds and past curfew. But he wasn’t a student, he was an adult and, no matter how much he respected this man, this wasn’t his business. “I’d rather not say, sir.”

Those blue eyes appraised him shrewdly and Jon remembered that he was a renowned Legilimens. _No, that’s private,_ he thought, angrily. He was not half bad at Occlumency himself. 

But perhaps he wasn’t quick enough for the headmaster’s look of concern faded in an instant to be replaced by a blush, something Jon Snow had never anticipated seeing on that wrinkled visage ever in his life.

“I apologize most sincerely, Jon. I have just come from the forest where Tormund has made a most grievous discovery. I’m on my way to my study where I suppose I will need to inform the Ministry of a mysterious death.”

His own anger and embarrassment was forgotten at once. “Grievous discovery? Mysterious death? The Ministry? What has happened?! Is it Ghost?!” Surely, he would know if something had happened to Ghost. _ Well, you have been rather preoccupied all night. _

“Ghost? No, I don’t believe he had any paw in this matter but Petyr Baelish has been found dead in the forest this past night.”

“Baelish? Dead? In the forest? But how?”

“I don’t know any details beyond the fact that it appears he was burned alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to those of you sticking with this story! We're in the home stretch now :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hogwarts Express will be pulling out from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters tomorrow so I figured it was time for an update :)
> 
> I needed to take a little break on this one. Sometimes, that happens if my enthusiasm wanes and other stories are calling to me more but I sincerely appreciate those of you who've been asking about it. I woke up this morning feeling this one very strongly and here we go for better or worse. I've got the final two chapters outlined and would like to finish it in the next couple of weeks *fingers crossed*

Dawn had arrived a short while ago as Jon returned to the hospital wing. Since no one else was there, he was able to slip into her quarters without an audience just as he’d left it a short while ago.

Her hair looked like dark copper silk upon the white pillowcase as the room was starting to lighten. Whisper-soft, he stroked her cheek. He absolutely hated disturbing her blissful slumber after a long but happy night.

“I’m sorry to wake you, love, but I need you.”

A sleepy groan and then her eyes fluttered opened. “Never apologize for needing me but, after three times last night, you’re ready for more again this early? I’m going to be brewing a great deal of moon tea to keep up with someone’s wolfish appetite, aren’t I?”

He agreed wholeheartedly with her statement and he wished he could share her playful, seductive grin but couldn’t.

She sat up, realizing something wasn’t right. The blanket fell away revealing that she was as bare as he’d left her. He wanted to tell the headmaster and whoever was coming from the Ministry that it was Christmas Day and he had a priceless gift he needed to worship and adore some more and couldn’t care less about Petyr Baelish meeting the end he deserved.

_Well, Ghost should’ve had the honor of eating him in my opinion._

“What is it, Jon?”

He told her what he knew while she dressed and then the two of them headed out into the cold, crunching across the snow-covered lawn towards the forest.

Tormund met them outside his hut to tell his version of events. “I was seeing Brienne back up to the castle near three or so…”

“Near three? You and Brienne?”

Despite his own potential troubles, Jon couldn’t help waggling his eyebrows at the big man who quickly flushed scarlet.

“Now, it weren’t like that, Jon Snow! Not exactly. We was talking is all so don’t be spreading no tales!”

“I would never spread any false tales or gossip about you and Madam Tarth, Tormund. I have had quite enough of them being spread around about me, you know.”

Tormund nodded and went on to describe the ruckus he’d heard as he’d made his way back to his hut. Deciding to investigate, he’d taken his wand and whistled for Ghost. “Jus’ to see if your wolf would wanna stick by me. He’s mighty welcome as company if there’s trouble, I figure.”

“Yes, he is.”

He’d found a partially charred corpse a short ways along the path. “The bottom half of ‘im wasn’t so flambéed as the rest and between his wand being there…”

“His wand? Baelish’s wand?”

“Aye. The headmaster has been studying wand lore for years now and he recognized Baelish’s at once, saying as how he was always concerned over what magic it might do someday.”

Tormund didn’t elaborate beyond that for the headmaster was waiting for them by the body…along with Jeor Mormont and two other Aurors. The Old Bear had brought Jack Bulwer and Wick Whittlestick. One was a friend, the other not so much. If he hadn’t already been holding Sansa’s hand, Jon would’ve been reaching for it now.

“Snow,” Jeor said with a stiff nod. “Sorry to be dragging you out so early. Happy Christmas to you, miss,” he added for Sansa.

“Shall we see if the dawn might illuminate matters a bit more for us all?” the headmaster asked calmly, his earlier concerns regarding Jon’s whereabouts dispelled.

“It illuminates a good deal, I’d say,” Whittlestick said, pointing towards a nearby tree and then Jon. “The Dracarys Mark. How’d that get there, Snow?”

Jon glanced at the three-headed dragon figure scorched into the bark. “I have no idea.”

“No idea? You don’t expect us to believe that, do you? That’s your mark, ain’t it?”

“It was the mark left by my grandfather and his followers at the scene of certain kills and crimes. It is most certainly not _my_ mark. I have never cast that spell nor would I.”

“Sure your uncle didn’t teach it to you when you were supposed to be hunting him down with us? You were so keen to chase him down on your own as I recall.”

“Enough, Wick! Keep your trap shut if you can’t do more than spew accusations with no evidence,” Jeor grumbled. “Jon, have you any notion how that mark came to be there?”

“As far as we know, all of Viserys’ followers died with him and I have no idea who would’ve done that here.”

“It’s the mark of those Death Eating, dragon-obsessed loons in his family tree, Jeor! It makes him a primes suspect in my books!”

Jon snarled at Whittlestick as Jeor reminded the man who was head of the Aurors. It looked to be dissolving into a fruitless argument.

Sansa, however, had had enough. “Gentlemen, it’s early and some of us seem to be lacking our breakfast and our good sense. We have a wand here that could tell us a tale. It might possibly give us some idea of what brought Mr. Baelish here last night and what happened.”

Jon’s snarl turned into a beaming grin for his clever witch.

“Quite right, Madam Stark,” the headmaster said, equally pleased. “Let us see what the wand has to say.” He pulled his own wand out from his robes and aimed it at the one lying on the forest floor by Baelish’s feet. _“Prior Incantato.”_

* * *

The reversal spell had shown them the depths of Baelish’s folly and mania. Desperate to regain his credibility and the esteem of the Ministry after his escapades in the forest in November, he’d apparently concocted some plan to prove that Jon was in fact guilty of everything he’d accused him of and more. He would not attempt to capture Ghost again but he could do something to bring every living member of House Targaryen before the Ministry for questioning with a stay in Azkaban beforehand very likely.

The Dracarys Mark was not a spell to be cast lightly. Just getting caught casting it was enough to immediately bring that witch or wizard under the most intense scrutiny. But what Baelish hadn’t known was that only Targaryens and their most loyal Death Eaters who could do so without danger.

It was not Baelish who was dead.

It was his own faithful follower, Lothor Brune, who would’ve been wiser to consider the loss of a hand to Ghost more than enough service to that odious little man.

The wand showed Baelish casting the Dracarys Mark and how it had backfired, engulfing Brune who had stood beside him in a violent, fiery sphere.

The wand went on to tell other tales, confirming that Baelish had indeed cast the Cruciatus Curse on Ghost and attempted to use it on Jon. Jeor had said he’d be very curious to see everything Sneaky Petyr’s wand had to tell but that might take weeks.

Meanwhile, Baelish had changed shoes with Lothor’s corpse and fled the forest before Tormund had arrived. Whether he’d left the wand in hopes of making others believe he’d been killed by Jon or he’d just panicked, the Aurors wouldn’t know until they caught him.

_“We’ll be hunting him, high and low, Jon.”_

_“When you find him, I’d like to be there, Jeor. You saw what he did to Ghost.”_

_“It’s irregular but…yeah, alright. I owe you that much.”_

_“I owe you more.”_

_“No, you don’t. It didn’t set right with me having to let you go, Jon. I hope you know that.”_

_“I was a risk to everyone who worked with me like this.”_

_“It still didn’t set right with me. You were the most gifted of my lot by a long shot. Anyway, I’m afraid we’ll have to do something about that direwolf of yours one of these days. Wick’ll be quiet for a bit maybe but I wouldn’t expect long-term loyalty there and a beast like Ghost doesn’t belong around children.”_

_“Yeah, I know,”_ he’d said, unhappily.

Jon patted Ghost’s massive side in the forest three days later. “You would never harm any of the children here, I know. Too much bad press for the direwolves, is all. I don’t know what I’d do without you, boy.”

Ghost whimpered softly, giving Jon an affectionate nudge with his head…which nearly knocked Jon down.

“So, are you ready to pay a visit with me?”

The wolf immediately turned and started to trot in the direction of Hogsmeade.

“Wait up. I don’t move as fast as you and I don’t really want to stay here in the forest all alone as I am today.”

Sansa had offered to go with him but he didn’t really want to bring her around his father’s family. But Ghost was part of him and he knew his father would be very curious about the magic of wargs. Maybe that’d help settle some of the hard feelings and get him his seven drops of blood.

The pair of them left the forest behind since twilight had fallen. They would go to the outskirts of the village where Jon could apparate to Targaryen Manor, bringing Ghost with him. He’d had a particularly bad ‘episode’ yesterday. Sansa didn’t even want him getting out of bed but he felt stronger with Ghost next to him and would rather get this out of the way while the students were away.

_But not that strong,_ he thought as the weariness rose up again. _So much blood._

Ghost stopped and knelt like a horse might, reading Jon’s mind, it seemed.

_You know me and I know you._

Shakily, he scrambled up the wolf’s back. He wondered if wargs had indeed once rode their direwolves into battles as the history books claimed. What a sight it would’ve been. All he could do was cling to the scruff at the back of Ghost’s neck and hold on for dear life as the wolf loped onward.

“Targaryen Manor,” he said quietly into the night once they reached a good spot, holding tight to Ghost and concentrating fully.

The outskirts of the village disappeared. There was a faint pop and a confused growl from Ghost. Jon opened his eyes and saw the Targaryens' palatial home before him with its three-headed dragon emblazoned across the wrought iron gate.

He climbed down off of Ghost and looked left and right. There were no muggle dwellings nearby but that didn’t mean there weren’t eyes watching, hostile, magical eyes.

Jon wrapped his fingers around one bar of the gate. That was all he’d ever had to do to enter in the past. The gate did not budge. He’d been fully cut out then.

He drew a deep breath as the discouragement and resentment welled up inside him. He could not leave without seeing him, without trying. Everything he wanted with Sansa, he wanted it as a whole man, not one living under a death sentence. Maybe that was asking too much.

As he was reaching for the bell to ring, movement caught his eye. Something was fluttering around in the night sky. An overly large bat perhaps.

More movement and he spied her silver hair under the moonlight. “Drogon,” her eerily cheerful voice said, “look who’s come home to visit us.”

“Hello, Aunt Dany,” he said, wearily. He'd not seen her in ages, not since he'd killed one of her brothers. She grinned. She had always found it the height of amusement that her nephew was several months older than her. “I didn’t know you were in the country.”

“I arrived in time for the holiday. Didn’t want my big brother to spend it all alone here in this dreary place. Who have you brought with you?” she asked, peering curiously at Ghost behind him.

“A direwolf.”

“Fascinating. Can he be ridden?”

Ghost growled menacingly at her and Jon patted his side. “Easy, boy. By some,” he said in answer to her question.

Ghost’s growls were soon met by a high-pitched shrieking, the bat…which was no bat.

“That’s a dragon,” he gulped. Black scales and red eyes and no bigger than a cat, it did seem bat-like with its wings but that puff of smoke didn’t come from any mammal.

“Well spotted, Jon,” Daenerys giggled before coming to a stop before the gate. God, this was awkward. “This is Drogon, my newest baby. He's not big enough to leave his mummy yet.”

“He’s, uh…impressive.” _You named your dragon Dragon except you changed one letter? How exceedingly clever._

She kissed the dragon on its snout and laughed as sparks flew. She'd always been oddly attached to the overly large reptiles. _Well, I am partial to Ghost._

Jon shook his head, remembering why he was here and that he was still barred from entering.

The little dragon flapped and flitted until it perched on her shoulder while Ghost eyed it with clear dislike. “I don’t think they’re going to be friends, do you?” Daenerys said, thoughtfully.

“Probably not. May I…I need to see my father, Dany.”

She tilted her head to the side, a playful but mocking smirk. “Then, come in.”

“I can’t. The gate will not open for me.”

“Of course, it will. You are still our blood, Jon Snow. You just have to say the proper words now, a little added protection I recommended to Rhaegar a while back.”

“Added protection?”

“Yes.”

Jon placed his hand on the gate once more and said the words. “Fire and blood.”

The gate swung open.

* * *

Daenerys had chattered away about Romania and her work there as she led him into the house, the cavernous hall echoing with the sounds of their footfalls, her voice and Drogon’s feeble shrieks.

“What breed of dragon is Drogon?” Jon asked, remembering what Aemon had told him.

“A new one,” she replied with an enigmatic smile which he found disturbing. 

They were not Viserys but Aemon was right about Jon needing to talk to them both. _But what do I say? Don't be as crazy as your dad? _

“Are there others like Drogon?”

“No,” she pouted, “none have survived beyond a day or two out of their eggs until Drogon. He’s been with me two months now.”

Two months. That was not very old at all. Time would tell what her breeding efforts yielded and if they were truly something to cause him worry. 

One good chomp from Ghost and Drogon the ‘special breed’ would be no more but direwolves were fearsome beasts, too. He couldn’t exactly condemn the little dragon just for existing even if part of him wondered at what havoc it would be capable of wreaking one day. 

“It’s not strictly legal for him to be with you here in Britain though I can hardly say anything,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at Ghost, his ever present and silent shadow.

She was amused by that, saying she preferred Romania to Britain for that very reason. She would be returning day after tomorrow. “Won’t we, Drogon? We’ll leave this soggy island behind and return to our mountains where the sheep are plentiful,” she cooed. 

_Yes, go. Go back to Romania and tend to your dragons. Long may you remain there._

“Jon? I thought I heard your voice.”

Jon turned on his heel to see Rhaegar Targaryen sweeping through the hall in black robes trimmed with red satin. The same silver hair as his sister’s worn long and flowing over his shoulders. And most surprisingly, he wore a smile. 

“Hello, Father,” Jon said as Ghost’s growl became a whine.

“What a magnificent beast,” his father said in awe, smiling at Ghost more than Jon. “You did not tell me of him before,” he chided next.

“No, Father. It was a secret, me having him.”

“Secrets, yes. We all have our share of those," he grinned before clapping his hands together. "Come in and have some wine with me, son. Goodnight, Daenerys,” he said dismissively to his sister.

She scowled but did not quarrel with her elder brother, taking Drogon and heading off in the direction of the bedrooms.

They passed into his father’s preferred parlor where a large fire was raging in the hearth shaped like a dragon’s mouth. He wouldn’t be seeing Arya’s smiling face peeping out of it. He sure could stand to see her smiling face right now...or her sister's. 

“You should’ve written that you were coming to call,” his father admonished him as he passed a glass of wine.

“Based on our last conversation, I did not believe you would readily see me. I feared if I announced my intention to visit, you’d make yourself scarce.”

“Oh, that,” Rhaegar said, waving a hand. “I was cross with you but it wasn’t so much of a break as that, was it?”

“You told me I took sides against the family. You literally told me I was not welcome here because of it.”

“I did?” his father asked with a scoff before giving him an indulgent, bemused look. “You were always so quick to take offense as a boy.”

Jon’s jaw dropped and then clamped shut again. 

_The blood. You need his blood._

_I have some notions of how I might like to take it._

_“It cannot be taken by force,”_ Sansa had told him just the other night. _“It says the blood must be given freely or it will spoil the potion.” _

_Bloody hell._

“Well, maybe I am quick to take offense as you say but I’ve come here because…”

“Did you really kill Baelish?”

“What?”

“That noxious little coxcomb has been a thorn in my side for years, playing my friends in the Ministry against me and always stirring up trouble. My father saw plots everywhere he turned before the end and I can’t say I blame him when men like Petry Baelish move around unchecked. How he loves a bit of chaos.”

“Yes, well…despite what the Prophet may be saying, I wouldn't know because I refuse to read it lately, he’s not dead. He’s on the run. It was some lackey of his that was burned alive.”

“Oho! So you burned him, did you?” his father chuckled with glee as he took a seat.

Jon blinked in the face of this very odd conversation. “Uh...no, Father. I haven’t burned anyone alive. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Right, quite right,” his father said, punctuating the words with a wink. 

_Holy shit. He thinks I would...and he's main delighted by it. _ “He tried to cast the Dracarys Mark and it backfired.”

“He what? He tried to cast the Mark, you say?! Why, that jumped up little-”

“Father, this isn’t why I’m here.”

“Oh, right. I know why you’re here, of course.”

“I’m quite certain you don’t.”

“But I do, young man!” his father snapped, his good mood evaporating in an instant. This was always him. This was why Jon's stomach would ache and roil with tension as a boy the moment he stepped into this house. “Don’t be telling your own father what he knows and what he doesn’t!”

“No, sir…I mean, yes, sir,” Jon sighed, feeling thoroughly out of his depth. He looked back at Ghost who panted at him. _Maybe I should’ve brought Sansa to help me deal with these two. I’m too tired for this shit_.

“Anyway, Miss Stark sent me an owl not an hour ago begging for my assistance with the matter so see? I _do_ know,” he told Jon smugly. 

“Miss Stark? You mean Sansa sent you an owl?!”

“She did. Such a courteous letter and so flattering, I must say. She pled so prettily on your behalf talking about the curse and its effects and her affections for you. Well done there, son. She's quite a bright and beautiful witch, I hear."

"Uhhh..."

"To be honest, I thought you were merely trying to drum up my sympathies when you mentioned your issues last May.”

“My issues? You thought I was aiming for pity from you when I told you of my cursed wounds that open without warning and bleed me dry?! You're the last person on Earth I'd expect to show pity for anyone who wasn't yourself or-”

“Look at her letter, would you? Such an elegant hand and so well put.” His father was actually preening as he read back over some of Sansa's honeyed turns of phrase.

“Um…yeah.”

“You could take a lesson or two from her when it comes to your own penmanship, Jon. Not to mention you never write.”

“_Right_.”

“Considering the long-standing enmity between our two families, I think it’s quite handsome of Miss Stark to write and ask me so politely for this very...how'd she put it? 'This rare and marvelous gift which only you can bestow in your benevolence.' There's appreciation for you, eh?” 

Jon just stood there, gobsmacked. Sansa had written to his father and he was struck by her penmanship. 

“So, here you go, all prepared and waiting.” He reached for a small vial filled with dark red liquid which was sitting on the mantle.

Jon stared at it, his brain slowly connecting the dots. “That’s…”

“Well, it’s not wine, that’s for certain,” his father chortled before urging Jon to sit down and drink his wine with him and tell him all about Hogwarts and Madam Stark. 

_Riiiiight_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wick Whittlestick only appears as a tagged character on two other works on this site but he's one of the few mutineers named along with Bowen Marsh in the books and actually says the line 'For the Watch' to Jon. So, he gets to be an asshole here plus it just _feels_ like a HP name to me. 
> 
> I wrote Baelish's death last chapter with this potential twist in mind. I do see him as a Barty Crouch, Sr. figure in this story. He's a Ministry Man, through and through, but without scruples, like Umbridge. His position with the Ministry is everything to him because that's where his power resides. Without that respect, he's lost his identity and, in this case, all good sense. 
> 
> I've made Rhaegar purposely a little flighty in regards to his moods here to counterbalance his canon fits of melancholy and obsession. He's austere in general but Sansa's courteous letter pleased him enough to put him in a good humor for Jon's visit. 
> 
> Even though we saw very little of her this chapter, Sansa was working in ways to help Jon. She'll play a larger role next chapter when the students return to Hogwarts, Baelish gets captured and the blood bonding spell is cast at last.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I got to looking at my notes for the rest of this story, I realized I could tell it in one chapter instead of two. Apologies for typos but...after all this time, here is the end :)

“You’re not cross with me for writing to your father then, I take it. I only wished to..._oh Jon_...pave the way...so to speak.”

“Not at all. You saved me yet again, Madam Stark, and made a task I'd dreaded far simpler than I could've imagined. We don't need these in the way now, do we?”

“And Ghost being, _un_...with you helped make the weakness not so much? _Sweet Merlin...”_

“It did. Now, spread those legs for me, love.”

“But they weren’t unkind to you or…_Ohhhhh_…”

Sansa’s concerns over his visit to Targaryen Manor were momentarily forgotten but she didn’t stay quiet for long. Jon was decidedly chuffed to draw so many delightful whimpers and moans from her while his own mouth was occupied that night after the vial containing his father's blood was locked away to await the full moon.

The next several nights were spent in a similar manner even if it was occasionally Sansa’s mouth which was occupied and Jon who cried out in her quarters in the empty hospital wing.

“They’ll be back tomorrow,” she said the night before the students were to return.

They were tangled together under her sheets, snuggled close. She was gently stroking the scar nearest his heart. “I know.”

“I don’t look forward to being alone in this bed at night again.”

“Nor I. Guess you’ll have to make an honest man of me soon to keep us on the right side of the Deputy Headmistress’s Code of Conduct for staff.” 

Yes, she would be getting a better proposal than that. Her answering laughter made him hopeful of her response. 

She nestled closer, laying her head on his chest. “I can hear your heart beating.”

“Do you? I hope you know it beats for you.”

She glanced up at him, her blue eyes glowing with warmth and happiness. “I know.” 

* * *

The daily routine was soon back to normal after January's arrival with more snowy days and biting cold winds. As normal as things got at Hogwarts anyway. 

Mornings in the Great Hall with hot food and fresh pumpkin juice were generally Jon’s first chance to see Sansa for the day now with all of her assistants returned to the hospital wing. While he was glad to see her, the restriction regarding certain varieties of fraternization among colleagues when the students were present was chaffing for two young adults in love. 

Jon had never heard of two staff members being married and living there together. Most of the staff lived at the school, during the school year at least, but not all. The Deputy Headmistress had lived in a cottage with her husband in Hogsmeade for several years before his death. He wondered what Sansa might prefer someday. 

That would be a discussion for later on after the blood bonding spell was cast. It was drawing nearer to the time for their attempt. He was filled with a nervous sense of optimism and a healthy dollop of skepticism. Sansa had told him, whether the blood bonding spell worked or not, it would not alter her feelings or wishes. It mattered to him though. He didn't want the constant threat of unpredictable exsanguination interrupting their lives.

One day as the full moon was nearing, Jon was finishing up a lesson for his Third Years about werewolves when he received an owl with most unwelcome tidings. 

_Dear Jon,_

_We seem to have a rising number of Scrofungulus cases this week and I will be enacting measures to quarantine the hospital wing for the entirety of this weekend in hopes of containing the outbreak._

Ruddy hell. How many bouts of plague and pestilence did a school go through in a single year?

_I am very sorry that we won’t be able to have dinner together as we’d planned tonight but I’m sure you understand._

Of course, he understood. She had a duty to see to and he admired her devotion to the children. 

_However, I do have good news. The potion for our spell is nearly complete. The only part that still gives me concerns is the question of whether you and Ghost are fully bonded. I was rereading portions of ‘The Magic of Wargs’ last night in bed…_

If he’d been in her bed, she wouldn’t have been rereading portions of a centuries-old book to fall asleep.

_…and there was mentions of fully bonded Wargs and Wolves hunting together, almost like a pack. So, I was going to suggest, since your Friday night is now regrettably free, that you try hunting with Ghost._

Hunting with Ghost? That was interesting. Jon had no great interest hunting and he felt like he already had hunted with Ghost in a sense during his ‘wolf dreams’ as he called them. But, why not? It would be best to test it out and see if he and Ghost were indeed fully bonded before they cast the spell. 

He scribbled a quick message to send back to her asking if she preferred venison or hare along with his love, well wishes for the children and regrets that he would be denied her company this weekend.

Once the day’s classes were complete, he decided to skip dinner in the Great Hall fearing that witnessing Ghost’s table manners might only make it come back up and headed outside whistling ‘A-Hunting We Will Go.’

An hour later, he was racing through the forest on four powerful legs…as his human body sat beneath the tree where the Dracarys Mark still marred the bark. His human eyes were rolled back in his head as his wolf eyes saw the yearling who hoped to make its escape in another section of the forest. He tasted the coppery tang of its blood soon after. He also felt the painful jab of the yearling's antlers. It was just a scratch in truth but he could get Ghost's blood for the spell this way which would make matters easier later on. 

Once Ghost had had his fill of the deer, he dragged the remains into the little den the wolf preferred for saving his midnight snacks. Waste not, want not and all. 

Jon had been with him the entire time but allowed the direwolf to act as it pleased. Now, he would exert his control. 

_Ghost, to me,_ he thought. 

The great beast raised his head and howled into the night. Jon saw the waxing moon through Ghost’s eyes. And within a matter of minutes, he felt his hot breath on his skin as he had the unusual experience of seeing his body from another’s point of view. 

Jon opened his eyes and smiled, getting an affectionate nuzzle from Ghost, a rather bloody one. Jon wiped away the blood with a handkerchief. “We are one, you and I. We’re a team.” 

Ghost raised his head and howled again. 

There was an answering howl from farther off. It was only a village dog.

Ghost turned back to Jon and whimpered. “There are none like you here, I know. I’m sorry for that. Are you lonely for a pack? Something more than me? Do you wish for a mate of your own?”

He thought of Daenerys’ little dragon from the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary and how his aunt seemed quite content to reside there. Something similar existed for direwolves in British Columbia but that was so far away and Jon could not go live there. His life was here. And while he had traveled to North America a few times as an Auror, to see Ghost so rarely would be very hard. 

_But Mormont gave you a good warning and you don’t need someone else coming along someday and brewing trouble for you and Ghost._

He pulled a small vial from the pocket of his robes to collect a few drops of Ghost's blood which he would save for their spell and then rose to his feet. “Come along, boy. Let’s see if Tormund has anything edible for me and we’ll let you enjoy an hour by his fire on such a cold night.”

When he reached Tormund’s though, he found that the big man was not alone. He wondered how long he'd been waiting. He hoped he knew the reason for this visit. 

“Snow,” Mormont said with a nod, his moustache twitching wryly when he saw that Ghost was by his side, the direwolf he'd disavowed any knowledge on Jon's behalf more than once. 

The two men shook hands as Tormund bustled about for some of his beef stew but Jon was more interested in why Mormont was here than his supper now. “Have you found him then?”

“We have and I promised you I’d let you come along when we did.”

“Let’s go then,” Jon said, that old enthusiasm for the hunt sparked again. 

Ghost seemed to sense it too for he started panting like a dog and knocked his head into Jon’s shoulder. 

_If I am allowed to see him face his ending, why not you?_

“No, absolutely not,” Mormont argued when Jon asked. 

“It was Ghost he harmed the most!”

“And Baelish will go to Azkaban. Isn’t that enough? The rest of his life surrounded by the Dementors? What better hell on Earth for any man? That beast’s not going to be eating him.”

“He won’t eat him…unless I tell him to.”

The two men stared at each other long and hard, Mormont sizing Jon up as Ghost growled softly in anticipation. “Whittlestick isn’t coming along for this. It’s just me and Bulwer,” Jeor grumbled at last. 

“And me and Ghost.”

A very long pause and then, “Bah! I’m a fool for agreeing to this!” Mormont shouted before giving them a nod. 

Tormund clapped his hands together with pleasure and said he'd save plenty of his stew for them all for after.

* * *

_“Knew I shouldn’t have agreed to this,”_ Jeor had said sourly as three men and one direwolf had looked down upon the remains of Petyr Baelish much later that night.

Jon had smiled and then tried his best to hide it, knowing he probably shouldn’t be smiling. _“He shouldn’t have run.”_

Bulwer hadn't bothered to hide his smile. _“Snow’s right. We gave him warning. And the fool brought all this down on himself anyway trying to chase down dragons and direwolves.”_

Jon had recalled his father's evident approval in thinking Jon had burned Baelish alive and wondered what might've happened if Baelish had managed to become too much of a nuisance to Rhaegar...or Daenerys for that matter. He'd no longer had to hide his smile since he'd no longer felt much like smiling. 

_“I ‘pose you’re both right. If he didn’t feel the need to have his finger in every pie, to think he was going to scheme, cajole and manipulate his way into the post of Minister by stirring up trouble, we wouldn’t be here. But dammit, I thought you said your wolf wouldn’t eat him unless you told him to, Snow!”_

_“Ghost didn’t eat him. He stopped him from running.”_

_“He took an arm off!"_

_“He’s a direwolf, Jeor. That’s what he does. Ghost couldn't realize how quickly he’d bleed to death. He’s only an animal.”_

_“Well..."_ Jeor had huffed. _"I guess the Dementors won’t be getting Petyr Baelish after all.”_

No, they wouldn't. 

Even now, Jon didn't know if he was pleased by that or not. The Dementors were horrible and Baelish had deserved something horrible. 

_And he got some of it._

They’d tracked him down to a little village outside Limerick. He’d managed to secure himself a wand, probably stolen. Little good it had done him. The wand chooses the wizard Jon had always heard and it was too true. Baelish had produced more sparks from its tip than anything. Jon had asked him if he was resisting apprehension or putting on a fireworks display for them. 

Surrounded in a small farm house, he’d attempted to fight and then brought the roof of the place down on their heads trying to escape. Next, he’d fled on foot. He hadn’t got very far. Four powerful legs versus his two and the crippling fear that had him sobbing in terror as he ran. Jon could still taste that fear.

That had been the weekend when Jon had gone hunting with Ghost and finally felt completely convinced that they were fully bonded. He would never tell Mormont but just as Ghost had been closing in on their quarry, Jon had warged into him for a brief moment and he’d known that he could stop him, that Ghost would obey him if he said not to bite Baelish. 

Jon had slipped back out of him instead. Baelish had used an Unforgivable Curse on Ghost. He could feel the unforgivable power of the direwolf’s jaw, he’d decided.

Despite Jeor’s annoyance over the mess, he’d not been all that concerned about the outcome. They already had evidence of his misdeeds in November and the tale of his wand from early Christmas morning. All credibility he’d had with the Ministry was already gone and those who had been closest to him were slithering low, not wanting to be remembered for that.

Baelish would not be stirring up anymore trouble for Jon or Ghost or anyone. 

As for Jon’s other concerns though, he'd shared some of them with Jeor over a bowl of Tormund's beef stew in the predawn hours.

_“I don’t believe they have any evil intentions like my uncle but it might be wise to keep an eye on my Aunt Daenerys and my father here and there.”_

_“You think I don’t know that already, Jon. What sort of Head Auror do you take me for?”_ Jeor had asked with a snort. _“We’ve been keeping closer tabs on them since Viserys’ death.”_

_“I didn’t know that.”_

_“You weren’t with us anymore and…well, they are your family.”_

_“And that automatically makes me untrustworthy?”_

_“No, that makes you their family and didn’t figure, after what happened with Viserys, you’d want to be hunting down anymore family members. Am I wrong?”_

_“No. No, you’re not wrong.”_

He would never _be_ a Targaryen at heart but it was pointless to think he could avoid them forever, too. His father was his father. He’d cast him out in May but given him his blood in January after a few well-chosen words from Sansa in a letter. He would never feel the same way about his father that Robb felt about Ned. For that matter, _Jon_ would never feel the same way about Rhaegar that he did about Ned. But, if they should meet in Diagon Alley or perhaps over Christmas once in a while, Jon supposed that wasn’t so bad. _Every few years maybe._

As for Daenerys, if she remained content to rear her dragons in Romania, so be it. He would hope that no more family members would need to be stopped like Jon had stopped Viserys. 

When it came to his Great-Great-Great...when it came to Aemon though, he was certainly Jon's favorite Targaryen and his second favorite ghost…right after Ghost.

* * *

A few people had had quite a merry time making speculations regarding Petyr Baelish’s demise the first time around (even with clear evidence that it wasn’t him who had died) and the Prophet had even published its own editorial piece around New Year's. Written by Baelish’s friend Corbray, there’d been plenty of allusions to the Dracarys Mark found at the scene and more than one reminder that a bastard Targaryen worked at Hogwarts but nothing serious had come of it in the end. 

The second time around, Jon had not escaped notice so lightly, thus the trip to London and the Ministry that Monday afternoon. 

He was brought before Stannis Baratheon, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and brother of the former Minister of Magic, to give testimony regarding what had occurred, why he had been presence and Ghost’s role in Baelish’s death. 

“And where is the direwolf now, Mr. Snow?” Stannis asked him, grimly.

He thought himself above crossing his fingers behind his back. Apparently, he'd been wrong. 

“Not at Hogwarts anymore, sir.” _I don’t know where he is right at this moment. Hopefully, not eating any of Ned’s sheep._ “He’s not in England either.” _Not technically a lie. Scotland is not England. _

Stannis grilled him thoroughly but Jon’s replies remained the same; "I don’t know. He's not in England. He’s not on Hogwarts grounds anymore. I told the Direwolf Refuge in British Columbia about him and asked if they'd take him." _But I didn't deliver him to them either. _

“Well, when someone courts trouble in the manner that Baelish excelled at doing, I suppose one can’t feel too sorry for him when he finds it. We'll be sending someone out to thoroughly search the grounds of Hogwarts though so you'd best not be lying, Snow. And you are lucky to escape without a penalty for having kept him to begin with,” the older man said at last before declaring the inquiry at a close. 

Jon had already anticipated a possible search. He just hoped they'd be a few days about getting 'round to it. When he’d returned to the school Saturday morning, he'd sent a message to Sansa in her quarters and she'd been insistent that they remove Ghost to the woods that made up part of her family's estate at once. Far to the north, Ghost would be safe, they hoped. It was his natural habitat anyway.

Ned had met him and Ghost an hour later on the road that led to Winterfell. They’d talked a long while about Ghost, protective charms and shield enchantments before discussing other matters close to Jon's heart. 

_“Bring her home next weekend. It’d please Cat and me to have you both here for a visit again.”_

_“I’ll ask her once I return but…well, there’s something else Sansa and I are going to be seeing to first and I’d like it if you came. Robb and Arya, too, if they can manage it.”_

He'd proceeded to explain. 

_“Just tell me when it’s time, Jon. We'll be there."_

Sansa had told him he didn't have to do things alone and he was starting to see how right she was. He wanted family around when they made their attempt. And he didn't want Sansa alone in case things didn't go well for some unforeseen reason.

An hour after he finished with Stannis, Jon exited the Ministry of Magic with Sansa by his side. They were both breathing a sigh of relief though it was tinged with sorrow. He could not safely keep Ghost anymore. 

_A direwolf was never a pet though._

They decided to clear their heads with a stroll along the Thames. 

"I cannot thank your family enough for..."

Sansa held up a hand. "Don't. You know they'd do anything for you."

It was true. It touched his heart in ways she might never guess and it was true. He didn't think he'd have walked away from the Chief Warlock so easily if not for Ned's pull at the Ministry. 

"Shall we pop by Diagon Alley before we head back?" 

Sansa looked about at all the muggles bustling along. "No...I think I want to go to the cinema if you're free tonight, Professor Snow."

"Was there a film you were wanting to see, Madam Stark?" Jon didn't keep track of such things but maybe Sansa did. 

"No, I'd just heard it was another good place to practice snogging."

He half chuckled, half scoffed. "For teenagers maybe."

"You make me feel like a teenager sometimes," she replied, playfully. 

He kissed her hand and they found their way to the nearest cinema where they showed older motion pictures. The one they selected was called 'Magic.' They thought it would be amusing. Instead, Sansa wound up hiding behind her hands for most of it and Jon would never look at muggles and their ventriloquists' dummies the same again. 

All the same, he kept her thoroughly distracted with his kisses. 

* * *

_It’s time,_ Jon thought two days later. 

It seemed like any other Wednesday but it wasn’t. 

“The moon is full tonight.”

“We’re ready,” Sansa said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Slipping away from the castle after dinner, the pair of them carried their supplies; the final potion ingredients along with plenty of healing potions and bandages in case this did not go as hoped. 

Jon looked over his shoulder as they crossed the castle grounds. The headmaster, Jeor Mormont and Aemon were following at a distance. He appreciated them coming in support of him though it made him all the more self-conscious.

“Don’t think about them. Think about us. Think about what you want to do first when you’re free of this curse.”

He smiled, squeezing her hand. “_If_ I’m free of this curse by the time this is done, I already know the answer to that.”

Sansa took her own glance back. “He’s going to ask you to rejoin the Aurors.”

“Who? Jeor?”

“Yes. I’m sure he wants you healed regardless but I think that’s why he asked to come.”

“You may be right.” A shadow crossed her brow which he hated to see but she said nothing else. He kissed that shadow away before they reached Tormund’s hut. “Let’s focus on our task, my good healer.”

She nodded as Tormund came out with Arya, Robb and Ned who’d been waiting there with someone else. His heart glowed laying eyes on them, knowing they’d come for him. 

“Ghost,” Jon murmured, dropping to his knees and giving the direwolf several affectionate pats. “I’ve been missing you, boy.”

He felt Ned’s hand on his shoulder after the Starks had all embraced Sansa. “Are you ready, Jon?”

It was curious but his ifs, buts and maybes had melted away the moment he touched Ghost again. “Definitely.”

Into the forest, the ten of them went; eight living people, a ghost and Ghost. They would be out of sight of any prying eyes and they'd asked Oberyn, Melisandre and Tyrion to keep watch for any Ministry officials with terrible timing and stop Frey from nosing about tonight.

Tormund carried the enormous cauldron they’d need with him which he’d been keeping outside of his hut. Between the others, their various ingredients were divvied up in rucksacks for hauling. 

“Was there some place in particular you wanted to do this, Jon?” Tormund asked as they made their way quietly through the forest. 

“There’s a clearing I’ve seen through Ghost’s eyes. The Thestrals tend to gather there, I think. I'd like more light for this.”

Everyone whose arms were not burdened and possessed a wand had them lit to help light the way. The blueish light was alright but somehow oppressive. 

“I know the very place,” the big man said, nodding and leading the way with the man-sized cauldron perched on his massive shoulder as if it weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. 

Mostly, Jon was by Sansa’s side, walking hand-in-hand, but it seemed that each member of the party took turns walking beside him as well. 

Arya told him she had paid a call at the direwolf refuge and convinced them that Ghost was now running amongst their mountainous forests in case anyone from Britain’s Ministry of Magic should come to call.

“They owe me,” she said, her only explanation as to why they’d lie for them.

Robb and him talked of simpler times, the Hogwarts of their boyhood and how much Robb’s children were already looking forward to coming here someday.

“And maybe they’ll have younger cousins to share their exploits with like how Arya, Bran and Rickon would always quiz us before they started if you remember.”

“I remember and I hope you’re right,” Jon said quietly, liking the idea very much.

Aemon was the last to say something as Tormund sat down the cauldron in the clearing at last and Sansa started the fire. “Good luck, Jon Snow. I think you'll do well.”

“Do you think so, Uncle Aemon?”

“I’m quite sure of it. And if not, you could always keep teaching like I have.”

"Thanks...I think. But I'm not sure I'd want to be a ghost."

"No, no. It's not for everyone," the old ghost said, shaking his head.

Next, Sansa was before him holding out a small silver knife. “I’m sorry for this.” 

“Don’t be. Can't have a blood bonding spell without spilling some blood, right? I’ve bled a good deal on you since we were reunited. Time for you to take a bit on purpose.” 

She grimaced and made a tiny cut on his palm, saying she would always prefer healing to hurting. A few drops of blood welled up and she called Ghost over. He whimpered and sniffed before lapping at the wound with his hot, wet tongue. Hopefully, that would suffice for him taking Jon's blood.

Jon pulled out the small vial containing the direwolf’s blood from his weekend hunting mishap and drank it. He then removed his coat, shirt and shoes.

“It’s bloody cold out,” he said as Sansa stoked the fire and stirred the cauldron.

“Good thing I’ve got a hot bath prepared for you.”

"I'd rather share a hot bath with you without this lot hanging about," he whispered.

"Well, maybe tomorrow night, we'll invade the prefect's bathroom and enchant the door so they can't enter."

"Very naughty of you, Madam Stark. I like it."

He climbed in as Sansa added the final ingredient, the seven drops of his father’s blood. The liquid was a light purple but turned orange then. It smelled like wolves and tree bark to Jon with a strong, earthy scent underneath. 

He closed his eyes as Sansa began to recite the incantation and let the wolf dreams carry him away. He saw many things. Men, women and wolves running, fighting and bonding by firelight. It might be the past or it might be only dreams. 

He felt the terrible pain after that, the rending in his chest when Viserys struck him and that high, cold laughter. But then he saw Ghost standing between him and his uncle, a shield.

“No, no,” he murmured. Ghost could not be his shield. He didn’t want Ghost hurt. 

But he wasn’t. 

Viserys went away and it was only him and Ghost and the direwolf was unharmed.

“Ghost.” He opened his eyes to meet red ones staring back at him and a big snout in his face. He smiled at Ghost and scratched his ears. “Thank you, boy.” 

The potion had turned a pale grey as he rose from it dripping wet.

Sansa was between her father and her sister waiting but took a step forward when he stood. The tears in her eyes and smile on her face told him all he needed to know. It had worked.

_Or did it?_

He looked down at his bare chest and at first was shocked. He’d expected them to disappear but he’d been wrong. The scars were still there. 

"Some hurts don't go away completely but that doesn't mean they hurt us the same anymore," the headmaster said in his typical ambiguous way.

Regardless, Jon understood. The scars would always be part of him but they were altered now. No longer gaping angry wounds that would not close properly. They reminded him of some muggle who’d had heart surgery five years past, white and clean and faded. These scars would not be opening up and bleeding him dry again. 

“Are we sure it worked?” he heard Jeor ask.

Jon was still gingerly touching the scars when he raised his head to answer, “It worked.”

How did he know? He couldn’t say. He just knew he _felt_ different. He felt like he had before it ever happened…except better. 

Robb and Ned came to help him climb from the cauldron but he didn’t honestly need their help. He felt as strong as ever, no longer haunted by the shadow of the curse. Robb draped his coat around his shoulders as the headmaster set about drying his trousers with the flick of his wand. His shoes and shirt he could manage in a few minutes. He had something else he wanted to do first. 

“Well then,” Jeor said, looking pleased. “I suppose you might like your old job back now that you’re better and once you finish out your year here. Ned, I’m sure between the two of us, we can get them to take Snow back on and…”

Jon held up his hand, stopping long enough to look Jeor’s way. “No, thank you, Jeor. I truly appreciate everything you’ve done for me and taught me but my days as an Auror are over. I’ll stay at Hogwarts...as long as Hogwarts will have me,” he said to the headmaster.

“You are welcome here at Hogwarts so long as you wish to remain, Professor Snow.”

He gave the headmaster a half bow and went to her next. 

The sisters were both grinning at him as he approached but Sansa gasped when he sank down to one knee before her.

“Arya? Could you give us a moment?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically before stepping a few feet away to join her father and brother. All three Starks gave him an encouraging nod when he took Sansa’s hand.

“I do not have a ring on me and I might’ve preferred to do this when we’re alone but, after so many years of us not speaking, I cannot hold my tongue any longer. Sansa, I will not pretend that I’m not as flawed as any man even cured of the curse but I hope you know that I love you more than anything and will do my best every day to be worthy of you always. I didn’t want to ask until we saw how this went and I know it’s sudden…and yet it doesn’t feel sudden considering how long we’ve known each other. What I mean to say is, would you do me the great honor of marrying me?”

Looking back years later, the whole night would seem a blur to Jon Snow until he recalled her radiant smile when she said ‘yes.’

* * *

**Epilogue-Twelve Years Later**

Professor Snow and his wife live very happily in an agreeable cottage just outside of Hogsmeade these days. 

They do tend to spend their summers farther north at Winterfell when they're not on holiday elsewhere. But Hogsmeade is quite convenient since Jon can easily walk to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry every morning to teach his pupils all about defending themselves against the dark arts and walk back home again each afternoon to join his family for dinner. 

For a profession he’d never contemplated entering before circumstances forced him to, Jon would heartily attest that he could not find more satisfaction in any form of employment anywhere than he finds in teaching. 

His beautiful wife Sansa was head healer at the hospital wing there for a number of years before choosing to retire from the post to devote more time to developing cures for rare and unusual wizarding ailments. She’s helped countless wizards and witches with her work and Jon will have words with any who calls her anything short of a miracle worker. 

At present, she’s writing a book devoted to the healing magic of wargs. It seems that some ancestor of hers had written a book on the subject eons ago but it doesn’t hurt to pass old knowledge along in a fresh way. Any teacher worth their salt knows that.

Their cottage had only a kitchen, longue, a bedroom and one bath when they bought it but they’re up to a dining room, a study for him and her apiece, three bedrooms and three baths now with a chance of more being needed before all is said and done. Magic can do wonders when one needs to renovate and expand a bit. (It is perhaps fortunate that no muggles live nearby.)

From the outside, the cottage seems quite small with a very curious addition to the roof, almost like a treehouse. The aforementioned studies are the reason for that since it is the place where Mrs. Snow conducts various experiments in healing craft (her brother Rickon considers himself an influencing factor here though Sansa has never caught the place on fire). 

Jon’s own study is a quiet spot overlooking their vegetable patch where his Great-great-however-many-greats Uncle Aemon likes to come and visit upon occasion. They often engage in spirited debates about the magic of muggles, wargs and dragons there. 

Anyway, the inside of the cottage is a good deal larger than one would expect when looking at the outside. A muggle might even call it magic…which it is. 

It is also exceedingly tidy, something Mrs. Snow insists upon. Her sister often shudders, calling such cleanliness unnatural when she pops her head in to say hello. The neighborhood mice would all agree with Arya’s assessment and the Snow Household is not for them either. They’d starve with so few crumbs about. There are also an owl and two cats residing there so, all in all, it’s a bad place for mice. They’re better off at Tormund’s hut where there’s usually some rock cakes lying about that only the most brave (or foolhardy) Gryffindors will willingly sample.

Jon and Sansa’s favorite spot in their house is probably the longue though where a familiar shabby yellow sofa with squashy blue pillows sits before the fireplace with a beautiful fishbowl sat beside it where Florian and Jonquil still swim their endless, courtly dance. The sofa has been the scene of much snogging and more over the years (and still is at times when the children are all in bed.) Jon even believes their twins were likely conceived upon that sofa when Sansa decided to stop taking her moon tea about eight months after their nuptials in fact. 

Their wedding?

Oh, it was a lovely affair though on the smaller side as wizarding weddings go. 

Hosted at Winterfell, the bride’s family was all there along with much of the staff from Hogwarts and a few good friends. The groom’s father even graced them with his most magnificent presence (no one wanted to sit beside him but sweet Bran took one for the team and kept him in a good humor for the duration of the ceremony and following celebration. No one hexed him or threw a shoe at his fat head anyway.) 

Robb stood by Jon's side and Arya proceeded her sister down the aisle. Mrs. Stark cried a great deal but they were happy tears...except when Rickon accidently set the tent on fire with his fireworks display. 

The groom's aunt had sent the happy couple a dragon egg, a most unusual wedding gift. Jon had turned it over to Tormund because he'd liked it so much but with clear instructions that he was to let Jon know at once if it gave any signs that something might actually hatch out of it. Britain was no place for dragons. 

The wedding was held over the summer after Jon’s first year of teaching at Hogwarts. It simply had to be in summer because it needed to be outdoors for two of their guests. Ghost was bonded with Jon and Jon couldn’t imagine such an important day of his life passing without the direwolf being present. 

The white wolf had sat at the edge of the Starks’ vast wood with his, at the time, new companion, a grey female direwolf that Arya had procured from that refuge in Canada. (A sister with connections all over the globe is nothing to turn one’s nose up at and having two family members working at the Ministry of Magic has its uses, too.) 

The wolves have young wolves of their own now but are content in their Scottish wood. Jon wanders there in person when they're staying with or visiting Grandpa Ned and Gran. And during the school year, he visits in his mind when classes are finished for the day and he may latch his office door for half an hour or so before heading home to his family. 

So, life has moved along very nicely for Jon and Sansa since they married, full of love and laughter…and children. At present, they have twin daughters, Lyanna and Cat, and a son named Aemon. 

“When can I go with you to the school every day, Daddy?” Aemon whined over his supper the evening of September 1st.

“In four more years, son.”

“But that’s forever!”

“It’s not forever, my darling,” Sansa said, taking her own seat. “Your sisters will be there next year and you’ll be off before you know it.” 

Jon reached across the table to give his wife's hand a squeeze not wanting to see her looking so glum at the prospect of their babies flying off. She smiled back at him, seeming to know how he intended to comfort her. She blushed and glanced down at her belly. There was a very good chance Aemon would not be the baby of the family by this time next year and the parents shared a secret smile over that. 

“Are we going to get to ride the Hogwarts Express next year with everyone else though, Mum?" Lyanna asked.

"Oh, you must let us! It’d be embarrassing to walk up to the castle and not get a chance to ride the train with everyone else,” Cat wailed. 

“Yes, girls. We’ll make a point of traveling to London so you may ride the train for the first year anyway,” their mother answered. "What was in the post earlier, Jon? Shaggy brought letters, didn't he?"

Jon scowled at the mention of their ill-tempered owl which Rickon had gifted them with last Christmas. Jon highly suspected his brother-in-law was having a secret laugh at them over it. 

"A letter from Sam and Gilly. They say Lily and her cousin are quite nervous over starting Hogwarts."

"Oh, the sweet dears. We'll have them down for tea if you think they'd be allowed to leave the school grounds for an hour."

"I'll have a word with the headmaster but I'm sure we can manage it. There was also a note from Daenerys."

"And how is she?"

"Very well. Watching her dragons grow." Drogon, that flapping little bat-like thing from a dozen years ago, was enormous now. Sometimes, Jon's stomach grew queasy thinking of what the monster could unleash if it wished to. Daenerys had had no more successes crossbreeding more like him though and, for now, he remained in Romania with his mother and there'd been no evidence that either his aunt or father had interest in their father or brother's evil pursuits. He earnestly hoped things stayed that way.

Sansa was urging Aemon to finish his supper when Jon glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink. 

"It's nearly time, my loves. Shall we go?"

“Oh yes. Grab your jackets, children, and we’ll go watch the train roll in and see your father off.”

It was a tradition in the Snow Household to go to Hogsmeade Station to greet the train before Jon would help Tormund guide the First Years up to the castle for the sorting and welcoming feast. He might not live in the castle but the school and the children there were an important part of his life.

Since the station was a good ways from the village and their home and night was falling, Jon took his beloved broom out so Cat, the more adventurous of the twins, could enjoy zipping through the air while clinging to his back and screeching happily. Meanwhile, Sansa took Lyanna and Aemon with her via side-along apparition.

"Can we go and see Ghost, Lady and their pups this weekend, Dad?" Cat asked him as they landed a few feet away from where Sansa and the other two children had just appeared. 

"Of course, we can, love. Look, there it is!"

It was funny how it could still move him, seeing that red engine coming around the bend hauling a parcel of young wizards and witches to their home away from home for the course of the new school year. He often took note of the young faces, the ones pressed against the glass staring out wide-eyed at the station and the castle beyond. 

It's a bittersweet pang recalling himself at that age but they are happy memories for the most part. All the same, they are memories and he has so many blessings in his life now. He wouldn't risk going back in time to relive a single day of it no matter how many time turners you might have or for a million gold galleons if it might rob him of his life today. 

"Welcome to Hogsmeade Station! First Years, this way!" Tormund bellowed as the children began to disembark. 

“Uncle Jon! Aunt Sansa!” two familiar voices cried out from the masses. 

The family surrounded Robb and Jeyne’s sons Brandon and Benjen to greet them. Brandon was a Seventh Year and swore he would’ve been a shoe-in for Head Boy if Sam Tarly, Jr. were not also in his year. Benjen was a Fifth Year and Seeker on Gryffindor’s Quidditch team just as his uncle once was. Jon couldn't be more pleased to see them and chuckled to hear his own children plying them with a fresh batch of questions. _As if they don't already know all this having a father working at the school. _

Sansa wished the boys a good year and then took Jon’s hand while the cousins were still busy talking. “There’s the Tarlys.”

Little Sam who wasn’t remotely little anymore came up to give them each a hug followed by his younger sister, Lily, and their cousin, Sansara Tarly, Dickon’s daughter by the former Miss Eleanor Mooten.

_“Does it bother you? Him marrying another so quickly after you’d refused his third proposal?”_ Jon had asked Sansa with concern when they’d heard of Dickon’s hasty wedding not long after Jon had been healed from the curse. 

_“No, not if he will truly do his best to make her happy. She always acted like she hated him back when we were in school but in truth she never did. She just had a crush on him and didn't know how to behave when he was around.”_

_"Teenagers," _Jon had said wryly, rolling his eyes and making his wife laugh.

Once they'd passed along an invitation to the girls for tea, Jon could not delay his duties any longer. 

"I'll probably be late between the feast and sorting and seeing things squared away for tomorrow," he told her. 

"I don't mind. I'll wait up for you, Professor Snow, to hear about the sorting and feast and everything."

He grinned roguishly since only Sansa was paying him any mind. "Shall I bring you a bottle of elderberry wine and some winter roses, love?"

"I don't need either," she said, straightening his tie and giving him a quick kiss as Tormund started to look impatient. _Yes, yes, I'm coming_. "I only need you, Jon." 

"Well, you have me, Sansa. Always." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There really is a character named Sansara Tarly in the asoiaf world. I didn't expect that. 
> 
> Like my Nightwolf & Dr. Stark fic which was inspired by Batman, there are some threads left dangling with this that I could revisit in another tale perhaps. Whether or not I get motivated to do so is questionable at best but we'll say it's a maybe. 
> 
> Meanwhile, it's no secret that I love writing in Jon's POV but I never expected to write a 80k+ word fic that way. Much thanks to those of you who've stuck with this little ode to my love of Jonsa in the Wizarding World!


End file.
